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(Copyright 1882 , by Kochendoerfer & Uilfi. ) 


BY MARIE LE BARON. 

NEW ,YORK: 

KOCHENDOERFER & URIE, Publishers, No. 200 Broadwav. 

1882. 


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BY I)«ARIE.^E 


NEW YORK : ' ^ 1 ^ 5 - 

KOCHENDOERFER Sc URIE, Publishers, No. 200 Broadwav. 

1882. 



\ 


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1882, by Marie Lk Baron Urie, 
in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 

[all rights reserve d.J 


I 

^ 4 
4 


Our ideals are hut the pretty handmaids of reality ; they 
wait upon its coming. 



1 


CONTENTS. 


Chapter Page 

1.— The Villa 7 

11. — They Move In 12 

III. — The Brave Bohemiennes 31 

IV. — To Mr. Mahoney 40 

V. T-Zed 49 

VI. — Mine Enemy 64 

VII. — Crooked Creek 77 

VIII. — To The Professor 92 

IX. — Artful Artie 98 

X. — The Big Farm 110 

XI. — Croquet and Cookies 119 

XII. — At the Mansion 125 

XIII. — At Home 130 

XIV. — Three of a Kind 138 

XV. — That Terrible Boy 151 

XVI. — A Game Two can Play at 164 

XVII. — Her Version of it 174 

XVHI.— His Version of it 177 

XIX. — Mickey’s Version of it 180 

XX.— Matched 183 

XXI. — Dimple’s Duplicity 195 

XXH. —Follet Flies 204 

XXIIL— Cooing Confidences 211 

XXIV.— Fly’s Fault 218 

XXV. — The Wooing O’t 225 

XXVI. — The Mahoney Marries 233 

XX VH. — Mickey’s Meditations on the same 244 


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THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE VILLA. 

It was a building of no architectural pretensions 
to speak of ; just a square frame house, much 
scarred and marred by the ^merciless attacks of 
time and weather, with a huge irregular chimney at 
either end, faded green shutters, narrow window 
panes, and an old-fashioned porch with tumble- 
down seats in front. It stood in the midst of 
quite a forest of indiscriminate trees (all the way 
from an oak to a crab aj>ple), and up its walls and 
over its sloping roof clambered a woodbine full of 
spiders and bugs, but the very thing of all things 
to attract four young women down from a neigh- 
boring city for a day’s airing, with an eye to a per- 
manent settlement. 

The old house had been uninhabited for a consid- 


8 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


erable length of time, and appeared at first view 
somewhat uncanny and congenial to ‘‘spooks hut 
the golden sunset gave it a complexion not to be 
ashamed of the afternoon the fair committee visited 
it, and the delightful entanglement of a weedy gar- 
den in the rear, the picturesque gateway without 
a gate, and the budding rose bushes and lilacs near 
the pig pen, did the business for the patient land- 
lord. 

“It is Just the place for seclusion, reflection, and 
study !” exclaimed Follet, gazing pensively up into 
a promising cherry tree. 

“A place where one may live without being 
brained to death with the petty conventions of 
society,” emphatically added Carol, who had a step- 
mother of high social tendencies at home. 

“Yes, it is a sweet, sweet spot !” chimed in Fly, 
whose dramatic tendencies were always on the alert. 
“Already my soul soars to higher aspirations! 
Girls, I will not darn socks nor patch boys’ trousers 
a day longer. I have my own small stipend to 
assist in our housekeeping, and sister Frances may 
hire, henceforth, her hopeful’s mending. I shall 
certainly come if you decide to take the— the — ” 

“ Villa Bohemia,” appended Carol, with an accent 
of extreme dignity. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


9 


‘‘And if Aunt Daffodil concurs in the arrange- 
ment,” interpolated Follet. “It may be too roman- 
tic and impossible even for her.” 

“Nonsense!” cried Fly. “You are such a wet 
blanket with your ifs, Follet! Aunt Daffy can’t 
retract her promise at this late hour. If she should 
perpetrate such an unheard-of outrage' why— why, 
girls, we’ll come without her. For my part, I deci- 
dedly (come to think of it) object to a chaperone of 
any sort whatsoever ; it reflects upon our original 
purpose in coming here, and upon our absolute right 
and ability to develop ourselves individually.” 

“Aunt Daffodil has views herself. Fly,” inter- 
rupted Carol’s rebuking voice. “Has she ever 
merged her own individuality by marrying? I 
should say not. And I am sure no one could en- 
courage four girls more thoroughly in ideas of inde- 
pendence and usefulness.” 

“And well we all know she never interferes with 
us,” giggled Follet ; “ that is, unless we make a raid 
upon her last novel, or disturb her after-dinner nap. 
She never sees what goes on under her very dear old 
nose.” 

“Follet,” returned Fly, “learn a little more 
respect for your elders. Aunt Daffodil is in sym- 
pathy with our purpose and plan. So far as the 


10 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


communistic housekeeping is concerned, she cer- 
tainly favors it, so long as she can have her coffee in 
bed, and there is no one for us to sit up with after, 
nine in the evening. I think we may consider the 
matter settled ; we take the — the — ” : 

‘‘Villa,” said Carol. ^ 

“Can we rathe fluffy chickenth, and have new 
milk?” inquired lisping Dimple. “And may I do 
the baking ? I can make thplendid thof t cuthtard 
and thponge cake.” 

“Dimple will make a jolly milkmaid — eh, girls ?” 
laughed Fly, in theatrical derision. 

‘What is your fortune, my pretty maid?’ 

‘ My face is my fortune, sir,’ she said.” 

“Fly ! leave the male sex out of our paradise, an’ 
please you ; he made all the trouble before,” sug- 
gested Follet, withdrawing a pair of speculative blue 
eyes from a row of currant bushes. 

“ Did he tip over Mother Eve’s basket of eggs and 
spoil all her cackle-ations ?” asked Carol, mischiev- 
ously. 

“He put his foot in it, somehow or other, as the 
present impecunious state of our sex plainly proves. 
And here I vow,” exclaimed Fly, “that if we take 
the — the — ” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


11 


‘‘Yilla,” suggested Carol. 

Never shall man put Ms foot in that P'* 

And so, after further loitering through the semi- 
twilight of the interior of the old house — delight- 
fully mysterious and out of order— the bargain was 
closed, and the four young women became the 
tenants of Mr. Edward Mahoney, by way of his 
agent, a small, fiery-headed Irishman, who wrote to 
Ms master forthwith (by the aid of a certain Mrs. 
Biddy McGraw) : ‘‘An ould lady, sur, and four 
gurrels, purtier nor posies ivery mother’s son ov 
thim. An’ I’m loike to be havin’ my hands full 
lookin’ afther the same ; but I’ll kape ye posted, 
an’ bein’ ye’re absent, ye’ll have no throuble.” 


CHAPTER II. 


THEY MOVE m. 

The early morning train that came in at the name- 
less and obscure station nearest the Villa Bohemia, 
bore as passengers, on the brightest of spring morn- 
ings, the four merry maidens, Fly, Follet, Carol and 
Dimple, under the chaperonage of Aunt Daffodil, a 
single gentlewoman of fifty summers and much 
sentiment. They descended from the coach to find 
themselves the sole occupants of the primitive wait- 
ing room. 

‘‘There seems to be no omnibus here ; in fact, no 
vehicle of any kind,” suggested the elderly lady, in 
the blandest tone of remonstrance. “Is there no 
way of getting to our place of destination, my 
dears 

“A woman’s way,” responded Carol briskly, 
returning from a brief reconnoissance with very 
muddy little shoes; “and that, they say, is her 
will. It seems to be the only medium of transport- 
ation present.” 

“We can’t carry our trunks, can we?” inquired 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


13 


FoUet. Then, with what the other girls dubbed 
‘‘Follet’s characteristic untimeliness’’ : “ We arn’t 
elephants, are we?” 

‘'Stop that giggling this minute,” commanded 
the disgusted Fly, “ and see if you can be of the 
least service in an emergency. Run across that 
field, Follet, to the little red-headed man at work 
there ; the station master says he may be induced to 
help us over to the — the villa.” 

“ Oh, Fly ! I wouldn’t for the world ! there might 
be snakes in the grass.” 

“Carol, you go, please, Follet will learn before 
long that life is not made up of pavements and mes- 
senger boys. By the way, where is Dimple ?” 

“ Ornamental, as usual,” returned Follet, inclined 
to sulk a trifle under Fly’s sarcasm. “ There she is, 
over yonder, picking buttercups to see if she loves 
butter.” And the three girls smiled in approving 
and loving unison at the childish figure of the six- 
teen-year-old girl among the flowers. 

“Pray don’t disturb her,” said Carol, rolling 
up a pair of wicked gray eyes in solemn retro- 
spection. “ We all had our youthful superstitions 
— once.” 

“Aunt Daffy,” interrupted Fly, as she returned 
from the errand for which she could And no deputy. 


14 


THE VILLA BOHEMLV. 


“that red-headed small man turns out to be our 
house agent. ‘Distance lends enchantment,’ and I 
failed to recognize him. He is so like a thousand 
or so other Irishmen, I feel grateful that he is 
blazed about thb head ; else how hard he would be 
to find.” 

“Fly,” warned Carol, “in your elocutionary 
studies there are phrases. ^Vhen you come to a 
possible breathing place, pause. The question be- 
fore the house is : How are we to get to the villa ? 
Did the top-knot of our agent shed no light upon 
this subject f ’ 

“It did. He assured me we could — walk. It is 
fully a mile. Auntie,” continued Fly, compassion- 
ately. “Do you think you are equal to it? If 
not, there is but one way — ^to bundle you over on 
top of the load of trunks and things. The Irish- 
man will carry those on a donkey cart. ’ ’ 

Aunt Dafiodil, comfortably seated, according to 
her wont, shook her head mournfully ; 

“The want of decent accommodation at the place 
astonishes me. One can hardly believe one is living 
in the nineteenth century.” ^ 

“It is physical culture we most need,” said Fly, 
who was given to gymnastics and was thin. “We 
hope to strengthen and develop our flabby feminine 


THE YILLA BOHEMIA. 


15 


muscles down here. A mile should not be a cir- 
cumstance. Do try, Auntie ; I believe you can do 
the distance readily.” 

‘‘Let’s make her a hand chair, if she can’t,” sug- 
gested Follet, whose inventive powers always awoke 
to action in the cause of comfort. “I have often 
been ‘toted’ that way.” 

“I’ve no doubt of it, you luxurious young 
woman,” retorted Carol. You were never known 
to walk, if you could help it. Fly intends to de- 
velop you.” 

“Indeed, I do,” said the young woman alluded 
to. “That is one of our chief objects in coming 
down to this secluded spot. At four in the morn- 
ing we arise, take a cold bath, and then practice an 
hour with Indian clubs, and — ” 

“Then, Fly, we ought, I’m sure, to begin our 
milking. Cowthe can’t wait,” suggested Dimple, 
showing her little white teeth with delight at the 
matutinal prospect. 

“ Do postpone the delicious programme until we 
get there!” interrupted Follet, somewhat snap- 
pishly, having, unexpectedly, plunged her foot, 
ankle deep, in a mud hole. “I knew I should not 
like walking in the country. The truth is, I hate 
it!” 


16 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


^^Pull yourself together, Follet!” said the pro- 
voking Carol, as she trudged along bearing the 
trailing end of Aunt Daffodil’s shawl. “‘’Tis a 
long lane that has no turn.’ You have come to 
yours, dear, — in your ankle.” 

Thus diverted, the party traveled womanfully 
on, really enjoying the chippering birds among the 
newly-budded tree bouglis, and the sweet, whole- 
some, invigorating odors of the spring day. The 
mile was one of the little Irishman’s own measure- 
ment — a short one — and the moss-patched roof of 
the villa soon appeared, from out the feathery 
foliage, in the near foreground. A narrow lane, 
hedged with blackberry vines, and margined with 
wild strawberry runners, turned abruptly into the 
sunshine from the shady road, and was closed from ^ 
wayfarers by a pair of high bars. 

“This is the entrance to our property,” said Fly 
with a dignified air of proprietorship, as she scram- 
bled up on the top bar. “ The agent says this lane 
is for our special use, and is not, of course, to be 
trespassed upon.” 

“ Shall we keep a dog inquired Carol. 

“I shall have a warning, a legal notice of trespass 
put up at this point,” returned Fly, decidedly, 

“ and no man will be permitted on the grounds of 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


17 


the Villa Bohemia under extreme penalty of the 
law.’’ 

The party scrambled over, and under, and around 
the barricade, and shortly were seated upon the 
porch of the old house. 

‘‘There’s no sign of our goods and chattels,” 
suggested Carol. “ Maybe there has been a confla- 
gration. What with that Irishman’s head, this sun, 
and the combustible, not to say light and airy 
character of our several belongings — ” 

“ Oh, he is all right !” called out Fly, who was 
gazing anxiously into the distance. “The dray 
looks quite imposing after all. I made the man put 
the big red chair on top. It seems to light up the 
general monotony of the load. Sister Frances says, ’ ’ 
she continued, returning thoughtfully to her seat 
on the porch, “ that we girls ought to piece out our 
limited stock of furniture with home-made articles. 
I told her that, for my part, I never saw a barrel 
easy chair or a domestic rocker that didn’ t go over 
the very first time any one tried to sit in it. I shall 
never forget, never to my dying hour, the last even- 
ing that Oscar Graves called ! Oh, Carol, do yon 
remember ? Do you ? Frances said, as she pinned 
her very last decent collar on my neck : ‘ hTow, Fly, 

do behave with propriety. Mr. Graves is a delight- 


18 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


ful, dignified and desirable person.’ Well I knew 
wliat Frances meant wlien she said ‘ desirable ’ to 
poor me. It meant, ‘Fly, settle yonrselfi, and don’t 
remain an old maid on my hands. ’ And I positively 
did determine to behave vdth the utmost dignity — 
freezing dignity, so to speak — and descended to the 
parlor, as prim as you please, and touched his hand. 
Ugh, girls ! his disgusting, cold hand, just like a 
wet frog ! Then I seated myself in Frances’s new 
easy chair (I helped her construct the thing out of a 
box and a covered chair back), and no sooner had I 
struck an attitude (train well spread, and fingers 
rings out, you know), when over, with a cracky went 
the whole afiair, and I descended to ignominy. And 
then — Oh, the wretch 1 I heard him say, with that 
glass in his eye, as he danced around me : ‘ Row 

wemawkable! How extwemely awkwad !’ I just 
gave him one look of unutterable scorn as I crawled 
up — ^it was not graceful, girls — and swept out of the 
room. I don’t care what became of him. I never 
did care. I must have looked like a dilapidated 
scarecrow. I — ’ ’ 

“Somebody pacify Fly,” suggested Carol, with 
exasperating calmness ; ‘ ‘ that yarn relating to that 
chair has the same effect on the unfortunate young 
woman as doth the full moon upon the lunatic. 


THE YILLA BOHEMIA. 


19 


Fly, why on earth will yon rack your sensitive soul 
with a narrative listened to by this suffering audience 
at least ten thousand times 

^^And Fly has fallen into the dreadful habit of 
telling the longest, most improbable stories,” com- 
plained Follet. 

“One thing we must learn here,” said Carol, sen- 
tentiously, “and that is to reflect more and talk less. 
Men ha^e yet to be taught, by a few superior women, 
that it is the feminine, and not the masculine brain 
that makes the world go round.” 

“Dear knows you have done your duty,” retorted 
Fly, still ruffled with her reminiscence ; “you have 
turned more heads — ” 

“Who, in the name of common sense, is to help 
that Irishman unload? There isn't amother man 
about the place!” bewailed Follet, looking like a 
distracted Ophelia with straws in her hair. 

“You didn’t expect to And a delegation prepared 
to wait upon us down here, did you?” inquired 
Carol, with fine sarcasm. “Is the diminutive Irish 
person, with the cardinal virtues shining from his 
topknot, doing his best?” 

“Oh, yeth, Carol, he ith,” lisped Dimple; “he 
juth took me to the pathture to thee the little 
calvthe.” 


20 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


“Young woman, remember the rules of this estab- 
lishment,’’ warned Fly.; “no men, no marriage, no 
muddles. Our code is inexorable, and will be bla- 
zoned upon the door-post, that she ‘ who runs may 
read.’ Meanwhile somebody — I reckon it will have 
to be Aunt Daffy, as she carries the purse — encour- 
age the Irishman to look up a brother- in-labor to 
assist him, and advise him not to break our one red 
chair; it is the only thing that suits my com- 
plexion.” 

It was a heterogeneous load that was spasmod- 
ically superintended by the four young women, 
and was finally distributed through the rambling 
old house. 

“I am to have the piano, papa says,” asserted 
Carol, with her usual air of being disputed, “al- 
though my worthy stepmother would smash it to 
flinders rather than let it come. It will All up space 
effectively, girls, if it is out of tune, and does look 
as if it might have belonged to Mrs. Yoah.” 

“Our furniture is rather pauperish,” Follet 
sighed. 

‘ ^ What ! ’ ’ snapped Fly, cross and hungry. “You 
expected to And perfect happiness, peace and in- 
dependence, and have French dressing cases and 
Turkish lounges too 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


21 


‘‘No, Miss, I did not. But I never bargained to 
do penance for those several blessings by sitting on 
boards and sleeping on corncobs !” 

“Peace, ye furious females !” expostulated Carol, 
her mouth full of surreptitious cold chicken pur- 
loined from the precious home basket of edibles. 
“Let no division mar — ” 

“I’d like a little division of that cold fowl and 
bread and butter!” and Fly made a sudden on- 
slaught upon poor Carol. Thereat ensued such an 
unladylike and boisterous bout between the two 
that the entire hamper of provisions was upset and 
scattered over the dusty floor. Loud cries of dis- 
may and distress arose from the other half-famished 
girls. 

“Fly did it.” 

“ Carol, you know you did 1” 

“Young persons,” murmured Follet, with all the 
dignity and breath to be mustered while chasing 
hard-boiled eggs and biscuits over the floor, “you 
have enjoyed your ‘lay out’ — to use a vulgar, mas- 
culine expression — and we now propose to enjoy 
ours. What is decently clean we will prqceed to 
eat. Dimple, call Aunt Dafly.” 

“The hath gone to thleep on the thofa. Fly, with 
her head covered.” 


22 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


“Disturb Aunt Daffodil at your peril when her 
head is covered,’’ said Follet, warningly. “It is 
her sign of danger.” 

“I suppose Follet means that it is her last resort, 
and that she will turn on us, like an ostrich, if we 
uncover her. Learn, my dear child, to express 
yourself with proper lucidity,” corrected the sage 
Fly. “ Where, by the way, is the dining table?” 

“She means old Tabby Grayson’s center table 
that we bought for a dollar,” giggled Carol. 

“It ithn’t in,” said Dimple. “It ith upthide 
down under the apple tree, and the lovely little 
chicth have gone to rootht on it.” 

A mutual cry of horror arose, and the four de- 
scended upon the fallen table. 

“I hate the country!” exclaimed Follet, holding 
up her draggled skirts, and surveying her boots 
with disgust. “Such unnecessarily long grass all 
wet and full of bugs. I scraped my nose on the 
apple bough, too.” 

“Nobody will care a lig down here,” consoled 
Carol, as she tugged at the obstinate table leg, 
“unless, miss, according to habit, you aspire to the 
admiration of our landlord’s assistant, Mickey.” 

‘ ^ I might have known that was his name. Fly, 
why are all Irishmen of his stamp named — ” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


23 


But no one heard her, and Follet, who was con- 
siderably like the zealous clown in the ring, went 
her way, expostulating, in the rear of the other 
three girls. 

The dami) table having been safely deposited in 
the kitchen, Carol and Follet sat down beneath the 
newly awakened stars, and continued an amiable 
discussion relative to the merits and demerits of a 
purely pastoral existence. Their experience being 
somewhat limited, their arguments threatened to 
wax ardent and personal, when the loud ringing of 
a bell put a stop to further controversy, and Fly 
appeared on the scene much smutted about the 
nose, with the sonorous instrument in her two small 
hands. 

“Supper, ladies and gentlemen! Ten minutes 
allowed for mastication, and an unlimited period of 
time for digestion. I cooked it!’’ Whereupon, 
followed a general and informal scramble, headed 
by Fly with the bell, toward the kitchen. 

“My dears,” said Aunt Daffy, appearing over an 
inner threshold, her head still enveloped in the 
•folds of a large silk handkerchief, “did the servant 
ring for supper f’ 

“ She isn’t awake yet,” whispered Follet. 

“Yes, mum,” and Fly bobbed up and down, 


24 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


courteously, before the old lady, who surveyed the 
scene with slowly aroused vision. “I be she. I 
hope I suits.” 

Carol, who had been mysteriously manipulating 
the coffeepot, drew a black character across Fly’s 
forehead. 

“Her carackter as a cook. Aunt Daffy.” 

“Oh, my dears, I quite forgot we were not at 
home. Are we to have a cup of tea ?” 

“You can’t deceive Auntie in her favorite bever- 
age, even by the expiring flame of that horrid tallow 
dip,” whispered Follet, who was Aunt Daffodil’s 
own niece and quite aware of her weaknesses; then 
aloud: 

“ Aunt Daffy, dear, it is nothing in the world but 
tea leaves boiled over. . We brought it down in a 
bottle. But we have milk. The little Irishman 
brought us some.” 

“Things are seldom what they seem, 

Skim milk masquerades as cream, ” 

sang Carol. “Aunt Daffy, sit down with us, do, 
and have some of Fly’s omelet. It tastes exactly* 
like smoked herring.” 

“No, I thank you, my dear,” declined the drowsy 
old lady ; “I believe I will leave you to yourselves. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


25 


and, by and by, take a glass of wine and a tongue 
sandwich. It seems to me that range must be out 
of order. Does it not smoke a little 

A little!” exclaimed Follet, rubbing her eyes 
savagely. ‘‘ Phew I What is the matter with the 
old stove ? Every particle of smoke comes out into 
the room ! You might know Carol purchased it be- 
cause it was cheap.” 

‘‘ Who bought the sofa pillow positively dancing 
with moths?” retorted the injured Carol, just re- 
turned from escorting Aunt Daffy back to her 
lounge in the sitting room. ‘‘What can possess 
that stove. Fly V ’ 

“Maybe the damperth aren’t right,” suggested 
Dimple. 

There was a simultaneous rush for the dampers, 
which were turned half a dozen ways at once, 
followed by renewed columns of smoke and 
showers of sympathetic tears. 

“ Who started that fire ?” 

“Look here, young women!” cried Fly, desper- 
ately ; ‘M made that fire, and I CQoked the omelet. 
In fact, I seem to have done all the work, while you 
sat around and bemoaned your destiny. I am 
done !” 

“It is time,” snapped the distracted Carol, who 


26 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


was vainly endeavoring to find tlie door-latch, her 
knuckles in her smarting eyes. ‘‘Four biscuits, 
two sandwiches, breast of a chicken, cake, sardines, 
cheese, ]3ickles ! Griiis, I can’ t stand this atmos- 
phere. Bo come outside, all of you.” 

“Fly, where did you get that enormous bell?” 
inquired Follet, when the girls had wiped av7ay their 
tears, and become more amicable in spirit. 

“It would wake a Rip Yan Winkle,” said 
Carol. 

“That is precisely what it was purchased for,” 
returned Fly. “ It is the property of my ingenious 
sister Frances, and was brought into our family for 
the express purpose of arousing me promptly in the 
morning. My small nephew, Zed — you are all ac- 
quainted with his superfluous energy — was remune- 
rated with marbles and talfy to perform the opera- 
tion. To make brief a harrowing tale, I dropped 
it down a convenient hole in the garret floor, and 
there, for a period, it reposed in peace — as did your 
humble servant. I fished it up and brought it, 
thinking it might be useful — to arouse Follet.” 

‘ ‘ To milk ?’ ’ suggested Dimple. 

“ I leave it to the other girls,” moaned Carol, “if 
Fly has not fallen into the dreadful masculine habit 
of telling the most interminable stories. And that 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


27 


reminds me of one. The subject is pickles ” — Carol 
removed one from her mouth — “and Phineas.” 

“ Is it long inquired Follet, who was possessed 
of indolent horror of sustained effort. 

But Carol, who was loth to be interrupted, and 
was born with a penchant for story telling, had al- 
ready begun her narrative. 

“ I was in love. Aye, awfully, deeply, hopelessly 
— as the sequel will develop — in love.” 

“ Though I’m anything but clever, 

I could talk like that forever,” 

chanted Follet. 

‘ ‘ I am coming to it. Be patient, ’ ’ said Carol, con- 
solingly. “We are all aware that, though apt to 
woo the tender passion as often as opportunity oc- 
curs, there is really nothing at all like the original 
adventure. It is next to plum pudding !” 

“Lemon pie,” suggested Follet. 

“ Chocolate creams,” sighed Fly. 

“Itheth,” murmured Dimple. 

“Interruptions are not in order,” complained 
Carol. “As I remarked before, we were ‘spoons,’ 
and he was a nice boy who cultivated a moustache, 
and parted his hair squarely down the middle. He 
adored spirituelle creatures — therefore me.” Carol 


28 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


surveyed with, mournful admiration a very thin, 
little arm. Like a limpid canal did our affections 
glide along a channel of unobstructed happiness. I 
always ate delicately in his presence, and thought- 
fully stuffed goodies behind the cupboard door. I 
always walked to and from church with him, in the 
envious faces of my other beaux, and he failed not 
to kiss his hand to me when we parted at the front 
gate. We were models — and our house was just 
opposite to that of that hateful Minnie Stebbins.” 

.. ‘‘She married him later, I believe,” suggested 
Follet, maliciously. 

‘ ‘ She did ; it was two years ago this summer. She 
wore — ” 

“ Never mind what she wore. How it happened 
you didn’t wear it is the interesting point of the 
story.” 

“ I am about to relate the same,” continued Carol. 
“ One fated August day, I reposed in my apartment 
in the comfortable consciousness of love and liberty. 
My flowing locks he so adored, were skewed up on 
one crooked hairpin ; my azure tie and gew gaws, 
generally, were cooling on the dressing table, and, 
in a faded garment of plebeian print, I reclined, not 
classically, upon the broad windowseat under the 
cherry bough. Listen. Between my lips was 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


29 


placed a pickle — a large-sized, home-made, cucnm- 
ber pickle ! It was a moment of innocent' and 
unalloyed bliss ; alas ! of brief duration. A merci- 
less fate dogged me ! Just at this period of my 
extremest felicity, just as the celestial sourness was 
melting between my airy, fairy lips, my delicate, 
my sensitive lover passed by. Oh, pang unutter- 
able ! The deed was done ! He stared, a cold, 
pitiless stare— the coolest thing I had experienced 
that day — and passed out from my sight forever. 
For days I lay at the point of suicidal madness. 

‘ Pickles ! Phineas !’ (that was his name), I cried — 
and pickles it has been ever since.” 

‘AVe shall live on a purely natural diet down 
here,” warned Fly. JSTeither Phineas, nor pickles 
will be on the bill of fare. Come, girls, you must 
all help wash the dishes. This is to be an indus- 
trial community. I contemplate calling it the Bee- 
Hive.” 

“ It may turn out a cell,” laughed Carol. ‘‘We 
shall be sure to have one drone in it,” and Fly 
looked savagely about. “ Where is FoUet ?” 

“Gone up to bed,” volunteered Dimple, coming 
in from the stars and the calf. 

“How pretty the child is !” said Fly, as Dimple’s 
little figure, with its cloud of fair, fioating hair, dis- 


80 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


appeared after Follet. ‘‘I hope we may be able to 
keep the orphan waif happy and good.” 

‘‘Dear knows,” responded Carol, rattling the 
dishes viciously about in a pan of cold water, “if 
we can’t be good here, we never can. But I won’t 
wash dishes !” 

“We will have old black Auntie Poke over next 
week,” said Fly, confidentially, wiping a long crock 
spot down her nose. “Never mind the fryingpan ; 
it would take a fiery furnace to melt that off. Let’s 
go to bed.” 

“Where, pray, shall we go 

“Why, there is no way but to sleep together to- 
night. Aunt Daffy consents to the lounge in the 
sitting room, and there is only one bed up. You 
may be sure Follet has the best part of that by this 
time.” 

“ The young woman aforesaid,” grumbled Carol, 
as they stumbled up the . steep stairs in the dark, 
“ will fall into the middle of feather beds as long as 
she lives. She’s born to be coddled.” 


CHAPTER III. 


THE BRAVE BOHEMIENITES. 

Follet was sitting npriglit in bed in the apart- 
ment to wliicli the girls had retired for the night. 
Carol, in front of a looking-glass, combed her silky 
brown hair, and the two were deep in a controversy 
relative to the name of their new domicile. Follet 
shook her anbnm head obstinately. 

i^o, I disapprove of the name on the spot.” 

‘‘Of the spot. Be lucid, my dear,” said Carol. 
“For my ]3art, I consider it a most appropriate 
designation. The Yilla Bohemia. It signifies all 
that is^ independent and unconventional.” 

“Tautology, Carol,” corrected Follet, lazily; 
“ crime of small boys, girls, and — poets.” 

“ Bother it all ! I can’t always consider my Eng- 
lish ! Some great writer has said, we — we, well, he 
meant, say clever things, and it don’t much matter 
how you say them. I was about to remark, when 
you interrupted me, Follet, that no better name 
could be hit upon. We have left behind us civili- 
zation and citizens ; we have come here vowed to 


32 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


independence o:^ thonght, word, and action ; we 
have come to work ont onr several fntnres, and in 
so doing, develop and improve, as well as indulge, 
onr manners, mentals — that’ s not a bad word — and 
best of all, moods. Spot of Delight ! Paradise of 
girls ! I vote for Yilla Bohemia^ and ask a resolu- 
tion of thanks for the original and brilliant sugges- 
tion. Don’t all speak at once.” 

‘^There’s no ‘all’ here, Carol,” responded Fol- 
let, sleejiily, from beneath the patchwork quilt. 
“The other girls have gone, with a tallow dip, to 
look for burglars in the spare chamber.” 

‘ ‘ Say guest, Follet. What is the use of having 
an extra room in a house if not to add dignity to the 
establishment V ’ 

“I don’t see how it can add dignity,” murmured 
the sleepy voice ; “we shall never have any tme in 
it.” 

“ We do not desire anybody, young woman. Re- 
member that it is seclusion, study, and improve- 
ment generally, we have come here for. I’ll wager 
my last pair of darned stockings she has been 

thinking of — . Ahem 1 Follet ! Ahem ! She’s 

off to the land of Fod.” Carol gave vent to a long 
yawn, thereby disclosing two rows of the whitest 
and evenest little teeth in the world. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


33 


‘‘ Heigh-lio ! One day at tlie Yilla Bohemia /” 

A sudden running, rusliing, and irregular scuf- 
fling was heard without, followed by the bursting in 
of the chamber door — somewhat rickety on its 
hinges — and Carol went down on the floor in a 
futile attempt to stay the mad progress of Fly and 
Dimple, who fell over her with distended eyeballs, 
pallid faces, and extinguished tallow dip. 

“Help! Murder! Robbers! Oh! 0-o-o-h !” 

‘ ‘ Stop your noise, Follet , for mercy’ s sake. Don’ t 
you see it is only these two wretches % Torn my last 
decent skirt off my back, and smeared me all over 
with that nasty tallow- dip !” cried the abused 
Carol. 

‘ ‘ Sme-sme-smeared you indeed, you me-mean 
thing,” panted one of tlie “wretches” struggling 
to her feet, very pale about the lips. “You 
wouldn’t think of tal- tallow if you’d seen what we- 
we saw. Would she, Dimple?” 

“What was it?” shrieked Carol, abruptly drop- 
ping the brush on Dimple’ s prostrate head. 

“Oh, Fly, dear Fly, can’t you speak? Do 
speak ! Here, smell this ammonia. Oh !” 

Dimple groaned. 

“ Thieves ! Oh, I wish I was out of this place! 
Maybe they’ve got Aunt Daffy. Murder ! Murder!” 

3 


34 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


And tlie over-wrouglit Follet disappeared under tlie 
bedclothes. 

It is not coming, you coward,” said the trem- 
bling Fly, straightening the broken candle, while her 
late comrade in danger, with very red face and dis- 
ordered garments, slowly drew her roly-jioly form 
upright. “ And some of us must go and see to Aunt 
Daffodil.” 

“ I shall not stir one step out of this room until 
you and Dimple tell us what you saw,” said Carol, 
sulkily crouching close to the closet door. ‘ ‘ Dimple, 
tell me this minute !” 

‘^’Deed, Carol, I couldn’t, I couldn’t. Fly thaw 
it.” 

‘‘Oho!” returned Carol, a trifle more composed 
behind her barricade. ‘ ‘ N obody saw nothing. ’ ’ 

“ But I saw something,” said Fly, casting at the 
same time, a furtive glance toward the hall door. 
“You see. Dimple and I thought we had better just 
take a look — . Hark! Did you hear that 

“I heard it ! Oh, help ! Help ! Harry !” 

“Follet, if you screech that way after that soft- 
pate we saved you from, back you go home. We 
are sworn ecstatics.” 

“Ecstatics! Ascetics, you mean,” corrected Follet 
mournfully. 


THE VIlLa BOHEMIA. 


35 


‘ ‘Hysterics, more like, ’ ’ snapped the valiant Carol. 
“For my part, I don’t hear a thing! Girls, if yon 
have anything horrid to tell, for mercy’s sake, tell 
it.” 

“Poor, dear old Annt Daffy,” sobbed Follet. 

“ Well, yon see,” continned Fly, “ Dimple and I 
thought we had better take a look to see if there was 
anybody hid away in the honse anywhere. Such 
a lonesome old place after dark, and no dog — ” 

“Take all night to tell ns! Oh, I beg of yon, 
take all night !” 

“Yon are a regnlar snapping- tnrtle, Carol.” 

“Do, do go on. Fly,” groaned Follet, from nnder 
the qnilt. 

“Dimple wonld not go first. Of conrse I was 
not afraid, bnt — I didn’ t really care to. Oh, I re- 
member; I carried the candle, and going ahead 
made a draft. So, we sort o’ sqnabbled along, and, 
by and by, reached that spookey entry- way lead- 
ing to the spare — ” 

“Gnest,” said Carol, solemnly. 

‘ ‘ Dimple clnng to me and wanted to go back, and 
the dip flickered and smndged, and yon conldn’t 
see yonr hand before yonr face, and I pnshed the 
door wide open — ^it was a little ajar — and — oh, girls, 
I saw — saw — ” 


36 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


‘‘Go on! Go on, I say!” screamed Carol, lier 
hair rising in the latest fashion, and her hands 
clenched in an agony of suspense. 

Awful groans arose, too, from Follet, whose head 
protruded from a hole in the bedquilt. 

“At that instant I saw something white in the 
middle of the room. Girls, it rose up, and rose up 
as high as the ceiling, and then I screamed, and 
Dimple screamed, and an icy, unearthly breath 
blew out the dip, and Dimple pulled me over, and 
I pulled Dimple over, and we tried to sacrifice each 
other, and rolled and scrambled along the entry, 
and finally, all in the pitch-black dark, got in here 
to you. Oh, it was too, too — ” 

Just at this most exciting point of the narration 
a crash was heard below stairs ; a sound as of a 
million ghosts let loose on a spookish spree. 

“Oh! 0 — o — o — oh!” screamed the four brave 
Boliemiennes in prolonged and terrified chorus. 

“They’ve got Aunt Dafiy ! O — o — oh!” Then 
there was a silence for the space of one minute. 

“It is coming. Fly! It is here,” panted Carol. 
Heart-rending cries arose from Follet, and a wild 
and ungenerous battle ensued between her and the 
distracted Dimple in an attempt to secure the 
greater portion of the sheltering bedclothes. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


37 


“Help me, ail of you ! Bring the washstand, and 
move up the trunks ; hand the bandbox and wash- 
bowl. Bring everything!” urged Carol, aroused 
to immediate action, and placing, in her excite- 
ment, the water pitcher against the door. “It’s 
coming ! It’s here 1 ” and, with palsied limbs, she 
slid down upon the floor, her back against her 
barricade. 

There was a renewed chorus of groans and sup- 
plications from the bed, while Fly wildly tugged to 
rescue the dressing table, scattering mirror and 
knicknacks in every direction. 

. An awful pause ensued. 

‘ ‘ Do you hear anything V ’ 

“ Hot a breath.” 

“ He’s planning.” 

‘ ^ How do you know it’ s a he T ’ 

‘ ‘ Because they are always up to something dia- 
bolic. Would a woman attack us poor girls at this 
time of night 

“Hark!” 

“Hush! I do hear something. I do, and it — ^it 
moves,” whispered the shivering Fly between chat- 
tering teeth. 

There was a still more blood-curdling silence, and 
then a wild flapping and fluttering as of mighty, 


38 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


demoniac wings, and the something came crash 
against the rickety door. 

“Carol, it — it sounds more like a big bird than — 
than robbers,” whispered Fly, as soon as her white 
lips could frame a speech. 

Carol groaned. 

Quack ! Quack, quack, quack ! Qua-a-ack ! 

FoUet and Dimple reappeared, simultaneously, 
from among the mutilated bedclothes. I 

“Why, girlth,” said Dimple, “it ith nothing in 
the world but the old white goothe Mickey gave me. 
I thut her up in the hall tho the wouldn’t run 
away.” 

Fly and Carol arose slowly from their ruins and 
smiled idiotically upon each other. Then said the 
latter, removing the now noseless water pitcher, 
and cautiously applying her eye to the crack of 
the door : 

“If it is the goose, he is ashamed of you two.” 

“Is it, Carol?” implored Fly. 

“It is. And the next time you and Dimple go 
looldng for a man and find a gander, remember you 
are not the first of our deluded sex who have done 
so, and don’t make us bear the penalty of your 
folly.” 

“Are you done. Miss?” inquired Fly with re- 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


39 


covered breath and dignity. ‘ ‘ Then please hand 
me the remains of that disgusting tallow- dip, and 
let us have a little light on the subject.” 

‘‘My dears,” said Aunt Daffy’s soft sleepy voice 
at the door, a few moments later, “did you hear 
any disturbance about the house ? My head being 
well wrapped I was not quite positive whether or 
not I heard a somewhat unusual sound.” 

“It was only us girls, Auntie,” said Fly, as she 
escorted the deaf old lady back to her lounge in the 
sitting room, “celebrating our first night as inde- 
pendent and brave Boliemiennesr 


CHAPTER lY. 


TO MISTER MAHOMEY. 

The Yilla Bohemia had been tenanted a month, 
and the lilacs were all abloom. 

Follet had been digging in the soft brown mold 
of the garden beds the entire morning, and was now 
seated on the grass in the foreground, her auburn 
head, with the goldenest glintings of the afternoon 
sun on it, bent low over pen, ink, and paper. Near 
her, leaning against an old apple tree of comfortable 
curves, stood Mickey — the man-of-all-work — a black 
pipe in his hand slowly dropping reflective ashes, 
while his pent-up brain (a small, flery Vesuvius) 
wrestled with characteristic composition. Now and 
then he scratched his head, and stood speechless, a 
squint in his eye, and a speculative finger on his 
nose. 

“Misther Mahoney : 

‘‘Dear Sur — May this letther foind ye well, an’ 
all yer family.” 

Follet,*in amazement, dropped her pen and opened 
wide a pair of cerulean eyes. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


41 


‘‘Why, Mickey ! I understood you distinctly to 
say that your master was not married.” 

‘ ‘ An’ it’ s the truth he isn’ t, Miss. But ’ ’ — here a 
prolonged scratching of his red topknot, and much 
reflection. “Now, I lave it to ye. Miss Follet, if it 
don’ t be af ther soundin’ f oine ? A bit ov a bh’ y, 
loike himsilf, is aisy sot up, an’ — an’ — Maybe, 
Miss, yer conscience goes agin a fabrication?” 

“Now, Mickey, you are not a master of the art of 
letter writing. Pardon me for saying so. Shall I 
Just write the letter for you, and let you amend it 
afterward?” Follet was becoming very solicitous 
concerning the proximity of certain sportive grass- 
hoppers, and rather anxious to get through with the 
whole thing and out of the grass. 

‘ ‘ Och, no. Miss, an’ mony thanks to ye. Misther 
Mahoney wudn’ t, for the wurruld, have ony body 
know what I’m sayin’ to him. I’ll kape«n mesilf. 
Miss, if ye plaze.” 

“ How supremely absurd !” exclaimed the laugh- 
ing girl. “ As if I could write a letter at your dic- 
tation, Mickey, and not know what you say to him !” 

“An’, Miss Follet, couldn’t ye be falin’ enough 
not to look ?” 

“You are a worse dunce than I took you to be, 
Mickey, and Irish to the backbone. If I— write — 


42 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


this letter — I — have — to — know — all — about — it ! 
There !” said the badgered FoUet emphatically. 

‘‘Thrue for ye, Miss,” responded the unruffled 
Mickey, knocking the ashes out of his neglected 
pipe, and preparing for a fresh smoke. ‘‘ But how 
is Misther Mahoney to know I didn’t dispose ov the 
intents of the lettherf ’ 

‘‘Dear ! Dear me ! Well, Mick, if I am to be initi- 
ated into state secrets I had better be sworn. What 
on earth can you have to say so awfully mysteri- 
ous?” . 

“An’ it’s this. Miss Follet, — an’ no mis-manners 
to yer swate silf — it’s the ould place, an’ the tinants 
I must throuble him wid ; not to mintion the bad 
luck ov it — the gate off the hinges, an’ the pig in the 
praty patch, an’ — ” 

“I see!” cried Follet, shaking her finger, with 
assumed indignation, at the little Irishman. “You 
wish to complain of us, sir!” 

“Divil a oncet complain is it. Miss,” returned 
Mickey, slowly lighting a match on his further boot 
sole. “Divil a oncet ! I only wants to do me 
juty to me master ; kape him posted on the siveral 
doins an’ the loike.” 

“ Of course. We all expect you to do your duty. 
And do it quickly just now, for I’m afraid of these 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


43 


grasshoppers. Do you have them as immense as 
this every summer, Mickey 

“ Thim is mites, Miss. We have thim twicet as 
big.” 

‘‘Horrors! Do make haste. Dictate whatever 
you wish to say and it shall be so set down, every 
word of it.” And Follet added, mentally, with a 
subdued little giggle, “ Even to the brogue.” 

“ Thin, Miss, plaze tell me where 1 lift oS. I’ve 
the most miserablest head for remimberin’ fwhat I 
forgit.” 

‘ ‘ Stop ! Right where you are, and don’ t waste 
words, Mickey. It was: “Yourself, and your 
family.” 

“Wud it be betther to lave out the family in- 
tirely. Miss Follet? Begorra, maybe Misther Ed- 
ward isn’t a marry in’ mon at all, at all 1” 

‘ ‘ Yery well, ’ ’ interrupted the disgusted amanuen- 
sis, blotting out the “family” with untoward 
vengeance. ‘ ‘ Go on. ’ ’ 

“ The family. Ahem !” Mickey smoked awhile 
vigorously, and kicked a mutilated boot heel bash- 
fully against the tree trunk. “ Ahem ! Miss Follet, 
supposin’ I sez ; Sur, there’ s a lot ov matthers I’ d 
be afther layin’ forninst ye, sur, but seein’ Miss 
pallet— thot’ s the blue-eyed young lady wid the hair 


44 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


like goold — is writin’ herself, maybe, sur, ye’d as 
lief I wudn’t as wud, an’ maybe, sur — ” Mickey 
paused, and looked sheepishly at the indignant girl 
now besieged on all sides, by grasshoppers, ants 
and spiders. 

Now, once for all, Mickey, if you have, really, 
private business to transact with Mr. Mahoney, you 
must trust me implicitly and go on. I certainly 
shall not sit here all day. And let me tell you that 
never again may I have the opportunity to write for 
you,” a(Jded Follet, severely. ‘‘Miss Fly is about 
making new and more rigid rules concerning your 
sex. You will probably be obliged to communicate 
your wants to us through signs. So proceed while 
you have the chance. I will put down precisely 
what you say, and give you the letter. That is fair, 
isn’t it 

‘ ‘ Faix an’ it is. If I’ m to have the letther. Miss, 
I’m safe. I’ll begin agin : 

“Misther Mahoney : 

Dear Sur : The ould place — as Mistress McG-raw 
an’ mesilf writ ye afore — bein’ rinted to one ould 
lady an’ four young ones — as purty creechurs, sur, 
as iver ye laid yer two eyes on — I hev to say, mat- 
thers is progressin’ . An’ I hev to say [axin’ i^ardon, 
Miss], — that some o’ thim sam_e matthers is gettin’ 
ahead ov poor Mickey, sur ; not to spake ov the i)ig 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


45 


gittin’ tliin for the pettin’ ov him, an’ the garden 
goin’ to weeds an’ posies, an’ no truck to mintion, 
an’ the gate off its hinges for the swingin’ on it in 
the foine avenings, an’ the chimbly smokin’ loike — 
loike — mesilf share, an’ the mare driv to a skiliton. 
[Be aisy now. Miss]— an’ me, Mickey, not bein’ able 
to move hand nor foot wid the rheiimatiz, an’ bad 
news, whirra ! from the ould counthry, an’ siveral 
more throubles too numerous to sphake ov. An’ 
this, an’ others, sur, to desire yer most immejeate 
return to see afther yer property. 

^‘The big farm nades attention. The divil’s to 
pay wid the sittlemints ; an’ thot I’d be urging par- 
ticelar upon yez, sur. Come, if ye plaze, an’ don’t 
be afther waitin’ for this same, an’ — ” 

Stop again right there, Mickey, and take a new 
^start,” warned Follet. 

‘‘Ahem ! An’ sur, if the four foine young ladies 
at the ould place can put up a bit wid poor, rheu- 
matic Mickey, I hev to add ye nade not, Misther 
Edward, be throubled about thim. An’ I hev to 
mention— what’s to be noticed immejiate— thot some 
money is naded for the chimbly, an’ the gate, an’ so 
forth — [put plenty o’ thim little tailed things in. 
Miss ; the masther haint a dhrop ov maneness in 
his foine body.] An’ hopin’ ye’re well, Misther Ed- 
ward, an’ yer family — [there it is agin !” cried poor 
Mick, ruefully.] 

“Never mind,” consoled Follet. “ Saving a few 


46 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


rather personal allusions to the pig, it is a remark- 
ably good, terse bit of correspondence. I will just 
add the compliments of the season for you, Mickey: 

“ With regards of your new tenants who are well 
cared for, and the affectionate wishes of 

“ Your old and faithful servant, 

“Mickey.” 

‘ ^ Thot’ s f hat I wanted to be af ther sayin’ at first, 
Grod kape ye !” exclaimed the delighted little Irish- 
man. “Thotdl fetch him, the bh’y,” he added, a 
suspicion of moisture in his averted eyes. ‘ ‘ Shure, 
Miss, it’ s mony a day since I sot eyes on him. It’ s 
thot college, bad luck to it, thot’s kapin’ him ! An’ 
the place is nadin’ him. Mony thanks for yer. 
throuble an’ kindness. Miss. I’ll be long remimber- 
in’ the same. Miss. I — ” ’ 

“You are very welcome, I’ m sure, Mickey. Don’ t 
let any one have your letter now,” and the laughing 
Follet ran quickly away from Irish thanks and the 
acrobatic grasshoppers. 

“The Lord made ye, bh’y,” ruminated Mickey ; 
and as he gazed admiringly after the graceful figure 
of the young girl, the sun lit up the Yesuvius of his 
nodding topknot. “The Lord made ye, an’ give 
ye sinses, but — ” 


THE VILLA BOHEiMIA. 


47 


Mickey smoked an hour in dead silence, under 
the boughs of the crooked old apple tree. 

^ 'A ^ ¥: -V: 

‘‘ Where have you been all the afternoon, Fol- 
let queried Carol, as the former young lady 
presented herself at the villa. The 1 atter had but j ust 
descended from her “den” disheveled and ink- 
stained. 

“ In the garden writing a letter for poor old 
Mick. Oh, Carol, I wish you could have seen it !” 

“ With whom doth the Cardinal correspond 

“With his master, Mister Mahoney, our land- 
lord. By rights we ought to have had a landlady, 
Carol.” 

“I hate ’em,” responded Carol, more senten- 
tiously than elegantly. ‘ ‘ What did Mickey have 
to say, pray f ’ 

“ Oh, Carol, I wish you could have read it I It’s 
perfectly killing. He put us all in (with the pig), 
nothing extenuating ; and he writes for an imme- 
diate return of money and the Mahoney.” 

‘ ‘ I dare him — Mahoney, I mean — to invade our 
peaceful premises!” and Carol flourished, mena- 
cingly, an inky quill. “’Tis mightier than the 
sword!” 

“ Here’s ill luck to him who adventures near !” 


48 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


responded Fly, as she made a sudden entree witlT a 
cobwebby broom. Show me the rash intruder !” 

‘ ‘ It would be exactly like Aunt Daffy to take a 
violent fancy to him,” suggested Follet. ‘‘You 
know her w'ays, girls. And if she conceived the 
notion that Ave ill-treated him there is no telling 
what we might have to contend with.” 

‘ ‘ I will immediately devise, and draw up, a new 
and more stringent code of rules and regulations for 
the villa,” said Fly, severely. “And as for Aunt 
Daffodil, she must abide by them — or resign. Bet- 
ter no chaperone than a lax one in this instance. 
She knows our serious object in coming here. First 
and foremost, woman’ s utter — ’ ’ 

“And ‘too-too,’” interrupted Carol wickedly. 

“Or ‘all but,’ ” api)ended Follet. 

“First and foremost,” reiterated Fly, looking re- 
proachfully at the giggling girls, “woman’s entire 
independence of man.” 

“Positively, of course there must be some way 
adopted to keep him at a distance if he comes,” said 
Carol, recovering her dignity. “We must concert 
a plan. Four young women against one young 
man. Shame upon us if we cannot overcome ‘ mine 
enemy !’ ” ^ 


CHAPTER Y. 


ZED. 

Carol sat in the low-ceiled, sunny kitchen of the 
villa shelling peas. 

‘‘They are of all vegetables on earth the most un- 
satisfactory !” she said to herself as she wrestled 
with the tough end of a pod. “ One mouthful in a 
whole dozen of — ” 

“‘Ro-meo! Ro-me-o-o ! Wherefore art thou 
Rome-o-o !’ ’’ 

“Just to hear that Fly elocute !” she continued 
in a still more doleful soliloquy, in nowise put 
about in her pea-shelling by the prolonged howl of 
dramatic affection. “ I’ m sure I wish her Romeo had 
her. She is stage-struck if ever a girl was.” 

“Carol! Ca-a-rol! Here, run 1 Quick, hurry 1” 

“What possesses the languid Follet?” she 
queried, without moving. “ She exists in a chronic 
state of surprise in this rural abode of ours. Most 
like, the gentle cow has ventured into the front yard 
or — ” 

“Carol! Oh, Carol!” 

4 


50 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


The call was peremptory even for Follet, and np 
Jumped the young girl spilling her pan of peas over 
the kitchen floor ; whereat the flufly little chicks 
trotted in, in a state of newborn beatitude, and 
gobbled them all up. 

Around the lilac bushes to the stonewall that 
divided the yard from the back pasture, flew Fly, 
Follet and Carol. 

Gobble ! Gobble ! Gobble, gobble, gobble ! 

‘ ‘ Go way Go way, I say, you horrid old thing ! 
Go w-a-ay 1” 

Gobble ! Gob-gob-gobble ! 

“Oh! Oh! Go a-w-ay !” Gob-gobble! “Go 
away ! Oh !” 

It was a wild duet of expressive and vindictive 
sounds, and the girls strained their eyes, and craned 
their necks in the morning sunlight, to discover the 
cause of such untoward clamor in the vicinity of the 
villa. 

“As true as I am alive, it is my nephew. Zed ! 
Girls, look, and believe your eyes. I am not mis- 
taken ; it is that irrepressible boy. For mercy’ s 
sake, here !” 

The trio exclaimed in disgusted amazement. 

“Fly ! Auntie Fly \ I sa-ay. Fly 1” 

Gob, gob, gobble ! 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


51 


“Oh, go way ! Auntie ! Oh, boo-hoo-hoo-oo !” 

Over the fence leapt those three uncontrollable 
young women, frizzes flying, petticoats to wind- 
ward, their pitying looks and hearts bent on a small 
figure, a boy of six eventful years, standing, in his 
slim audacity, in the face of an enraged old turkey 
cock that showed fight, contesting every step of the 
little intruder’ s way. 

“You Zed ! you little unaccountable rascal ! you 
darling ! How, in the name of sense, came you 
here cried Fly, as she shook and caressed the boy 
at one and the same time. 

“ Shoo that horrid old thing away,” demanded 
Zed in response, furtively watching his feathered 
enemy’s flank movement. “Shoo him away, an’ 
maybe I’ll tell. An’ don’t — I say don’t — hug a 
feller to deff; I hate girls, I do.” 

A prolonged and reproachful chorus of “ Ohs !” 
arose from the aggrieved young women. 

“Zeddie,” urged Fly, “ tell me, dear, directly, 
how you came here. I am sure papa and mamma 
know nothing of it. N ow confess, sir, immediately. ’ ’ 

“Well — well — I— runned away.” 

“I was sure of it, you young sinner ! And they 
are, by this time, in a state bordering on distraction. 
I must telegraph, girls, vdthout delay. And, oh, 


52 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


do look at him — the little pig !” and Fly went down 
on her knees to rub the superfluous dirt from her 
recreant and resisting nephew’s nose. “But how 
on earth did you find the way ? Who came with 
you 1 Zeddie, answer me this instant, and tell the 
whole truth — or — or I’ll certainly spank you.” 

. Fly had dropped the corner of her apron, and 
seemed to be breathlessly entertaining certain 
nameless suspicions concerning the little fellow’s 
mysterious arrival. 

“Nobody didn’t come with me. An’ if you 
squeeze that way. Aunt Fly, I shan’t tell a thing 
neither !” 

“ Oh, come, you dear, sweet, precious Zeddie ! 
Carol loves her own, ownie boy. Nobody shall tease 
you, darling. Tell Carol,” and that young woman 
gazed cajolingly into the obstinate small boy’s 
evading eyes. 

“PQoh! you’ll tell. Girls always tell,” per- 
sisted Zed, disgustedly. 

‘^No, upon my word I will not. Never, never, 
never!” reiterated Carol, snuggling seductively 
down to the little chap, “ And more, I won’t leh 
the other girls tell either.” 

“Cross your breast inquired. Zed, relenting a 
trifle. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


53 


Carol crossed meekly. 

Hope to die an^ choke to deff 

‘‘And choke, Zed.” 

“Well, then, I played hookey this mornin’ an’ 
riinned away. N obody didn’ t see me. Oh, Auntie 
Fly,” broke down the little fellow, with a heart- 
rending sob ; “what made yon run away from me 
for ? Papa an’ mamma aint half so nice ; an’ I can’t 
never find my books, an’ gets late to school, an’ big 
holes gets in my knees, an’ I don’ t know my les- 
sons no more, an’ that — that darned old top won’t 
go, an’ — ” 

“What a catalogue of grievances, you dear, 
neglected baby !” cried Fly, succumbing and 
squeezing the remaining breath out of the truant’ s 
body. “But oh, Zeddie, how did you get here 

“ I corned on the steam cars, in course. You see. 
Auntie Fly, Fowler he — ” 

“Mister Fowler, Zed,” reproved Fly, with a 
quick, bright blush, that did not escape the other 
maiden eyes, and was immediately set down as 
“ against the rules.” 

Zeddie was a trifle surly at the feminine interrup- 
tion, but condescended to continue : 

“ Mister Fowler, he took me down to the station 
one morning, when he was takin’ me for a walk, 


54 : 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


and showed me where you^ Auntie Fly, rnnned 
away from him. He said you did, he did! You 
needn’t shake your head at me neither ; it’s true, 
’cause he said — ” 

‘‘Zed,” said his aunt, briskly, “the sun is ex- 
tremely hot. I shall take you to the house. And 
girls, that dispatch to the disconsolate parents, 
Mickey must take at once.” 

“Let him tell! Let him tell!” exclaimed the 
other girls in excited tones. “ You’re against the 
rules. Fly ! You know you are ! Tell it all. Zed- 
die, dear, everything.” 

Zed, rising to the occasion, began again : 

“I jest took my savin’s bank — an’ there was lots 
in it, ’cause mamma was helpin’ me save up for the 
naked little Hoppenpops — an’ I prized it open with 
the new carvin’ knife, I did, an’ Just corned.” 

“Yow, Zeddie, listen tome,” questioned Carol, 
watching sharply the uneasy Fly. “How did you 
know where Aunt Fly lived ’ 

‘ ‘ Oh, Fowler, he told me well enough. Showed 
it to me on a letter. Pooh ! It’ s easy to spell Aunt 
Fly’s writin’. He helped me to. But Fowler, he’s 
a fool about girls, he is. He kissed it,” confessed 
the guileless and nauseated Zed. 

“ Fly, young woman,” said Carol, “ we shall call 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


55 


a siDecial meeting this very evening ; and you are 
herewith notified to be in attendance. Also, to 
produce any documents — ” 

But Fly had seized her nephew, informally, any- 
where between his moiled collar and patched trou- 
sers, and was carrying him rapidly toward the 
villa. 

‘‘Lemmego! Leave me go, I say! If you don’t 
I’ll tell — tell Fowler, I will I” panted the writhing 
marplot. 

‘‘Oh, Zeddie,” pleaded Fly, when she had drop- 
ped him in an ark of safety, beyond intrusion of 
the other girls. “Listen, dear, to me before the 
rest come. I want you, once for all, to promise that 
you will not again mention Mr. Fowler’s name. 
Promise just that, darling, and I will write to 
mamma, and ask her to allow you to stay awhile 
here with me. Will you 

“ Yes — I won’t. Auntie dear,” promised the mol- 
lified boy. “Fowler, he — ” 

“’Sh! There’s Carol coming. ISTow say nothing 
about him. Don’t let the girls wring it out of you, 
will you f ’ 

“ I guess they’d better not try 1” and Zed’s eyes 
dilated with determined secrecy. 

“All right. Dearie. Whenever any one ques- 


56 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


tions you about Mr. Fowler, in tlie very least, shut 
your lips together tiglit — this way — and don’ t utter 
a solitary sound. And this night I will send word 
to mamma, that you are to visit me a whole week.” 

‘‘ Oh, say a year. Aunt Fly.” 

‘‘Bless me! Here are the girls now. Keep very 
mum, and remember.” 

“A year. Aunt Fly. Make it a year quick, or — ” 

“Anything. Oh, Zed, anything, if you’ll only 
keep still.” 

‘ ‘ Hooray ! Y on’ re a bully girl. Auntie. Better’ n 
any of ’ em. Hooray 1 ’ ’ 

“He is of the masculine gender,” affirmed Carol, 
when the matter of Zed’ s retention as a guest at the 
Villa was announced by Fly, “and against the rules 
of the association. I didn’t think it of you. Fly.” 

But, unlike her sex in general, her objections 
were at length overruled — especially as Aunt Daf- 
fodil, who adored children of all ages, wept tears of 
delight upon this unexpected advent of the little 
masculine ; and Zed die remained at the villa, and 
was forthwith taken into Mickey’s heart, and the 
trough of the pig, and was happy. 

^ ^ -H- 

“ Dimple,” inquired Carol, at supper- time, when 
the young person addressed came demurely in, very 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


67 


mucli bedraggled, with Zed at her heels, ''Dimple, 
how old are you f ’ 

" Theventeen come nektht firtht of May,” lisped 
Dimple, disentangling herself from a pair of vine 
reins which Zed had arranged with a view to hold- 
ing her "well in.” 

‘ ' I should rather think you were seven. Miss ! 
Intellectual pursuits, with you as an active member 
of a knowledge-seeking association, would seem to 
me to be ' below par.’ ” 

"I seen her!” piped up Zed, defiantly, with a 
masculine intuition that his favorite was under- 
going undeserved reproof. 

" Seen what, you young monkey ?” 

' ' He meanth he thaw me at work in an — an im- 
proving way,” stuttered Dimple, deprecatingly. 
"I’ve been out botanithing.” 

"Where are your specimens? Proofs, young 
woman, proofs are required. I see nothing con- 
vincing except strawberry stains on your face, and 
a hopeless rent in your gown,” said Fly, mercilessly 
swooping down upon the dimpled culprit. 

"I got ’em I I got ’em !” and Zed’s face became 
red and belligerent. "She couldn’t carry ’em. 
Here — and here.” 

An indiscriminate pocket load of odds and ends 


58 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


was, thereupon, showered over the table cloth. 
Half a pocket knife, matches, marbles, a portion of 
a wheel, a piece of dried apple, two door keys, 
twine, some nails, a suggestive pebble or two, his 
mother’s photograph — rubbed into a striking like- 
ness of a fashionable squaw — and, finally, a hand- 
ful of demoralized looking blossoms tightly tied up 
in a very dirty little pocket handkerchief. 

‘ ‘ Ough ! Zed ! What is that horrid brown thing 
crawling cried Follet, scrambling up on a chair. 

‘‘Pooh! Girls are such cowards, ain’t they. 
Aunt Dafiy 1 It’ s nothin’ but a rear bug. It won’ t 
hurt. Just see. Fly. Hear up, sir I Hear up, I 
say 1 Poke him a little, just like they do horses in 
the circus, an’ up he goes !” and Zed, with a tea- 
spoon for a ringmaster’ s whip, backed the curious, 
unhappy insect straight into the horrified Carol’s 
lap. 

“I’ll put you right to bed, you little wretch, if 
you do not behave ! ” cried the startled Fly, amidst 
scrambling and screams. “You are against the 
rules, sir, and if you don’t behave like — like a girl, 
back home you go. Throw that disgusting bug out 
of the window this very instant 1” 

“ Oh, auntie, please, I want to take it to bed with 
me.” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


59 


‘‘And sleep witli mef Horrors!” exclaimed 
Fly. “ Girls, the serpent in oiir Eden already.” 

“ Supplicate St. Patrick!” suggested Carol, from 
her perch on the sewing machine. “ Yarmints do 
multiply !” 

“My own darling Zeddie,” cajoled Aunt Daify 
in her blandest tone, prudently turning up the 
wrong side of her cashmere skirt, “ come and sit on 
my lap, and let me see the peculiar insect.” 

K’othing loth to put his prize on exhibition. Zed 
carried it, on the end of the sugar spoon, to the 
diplomatic old lady, and the two were soon deep in 
a discussion concerning its natural peculiarities, 
while the former pondered, in her gentle way, as to 
the wisest method of summarily disposing of the 
creafure. The girls, released from the bondage of 
fear, descended to their respective places at the 
supper table, and fell into a twilight conversa- 
tion. 

“Has anybody heard anything about Mr. Ma- 
honey V ’ inquired Carol. “You ought to be posted, 
Follet.” 

“Heard about him! Carol’s head is always up 
in a cloud ! I told you every one, severally and 
individually, that he wrote, in reply to Mickey’s 
letter, that he was just about starting on a tour 


60 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


through the West, but that a youth from college 
was to be sent down here in his place, to attend to 
the settlements. And Carol, my dear child, if you 
had not been half demented for an entire week over 
the contemplated suicide of your latest blonde hero, 
you would know, only too well, that we are ex- 
pected to give said youth a room in this very villa. 
Mr. Mahoney wrote an inclosure to Aunt Daffy, 
requesting it as a great favor, and I regret to say 
our romantic aunt jumped at the opportunity.” 
Carol, with eyes very wide, made a most emphatic 
moue towards Aunt Daffodil, out of whose warm lap 
Zed and the rearbug had just squirmed. 

I could not well refuse so simple a request from 
our landlord, who has been so thoughtful of our 
welfare,” said the old lady. 

“Of course not,” acquiesced Follet, sweetly. 

“We will see,” appended Fly, savagely. 

“It is true,” continued Follet, “that Mr. Maho- 
ney worded the suggestion very delicately, and 
made it quite clear — at least to Aunt Daffy’ s mind — 
that we owed it as a matter of common hospitality. 
Really, girls, I do not see how we can politely get 
out of the dilemma.” 

‘ ‘ Follet is always amenable to a masculine argu- 
ment,” snapped Carol. “There’s an end to my 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


61 


comfort ! Give a man the entree to a house, and he’ 11 
manage to upset the equipoise of its inmates in no 
time. Coming in at all hours ; catching you with 
your hair down ; hemming and hawing about as if 
he owned the place ; wanting his boots blacked, and 
raising the neighbors if he has a cramp in his big 
toe ! All I have to say is this : if we are forced to 
have him in the villa, we will put him off in the 
east room, nearest the chicken-coop, and he can go 
in and out the side door.” 

Mickey says,” suggested Follet, a bit wistfully, 
‘‘that the young man wouldn't hurt a flea, he 
is so quiet and unassuming. One of those sappy 
little college chaps, I take it, earning his living 
during vacation. Probably a jproiege of Mr. Ma- 
honey’s.” 

“Now look here, Follet,” inquired the suspicious 
Carol, “ I would like to be told how Mickey knows % 
That Irishman is as deep as a well.” 

“ He isn’t as much given to water,” giggled Fol- 
let in response. 

“This is a matter for serious consideration,” 
interrupted Fly, gravely. ‘ ‘ Aunt Daffodil, I plainly 
see, is not at all calculated to carry out our original 
pi an of the villa. W e will caU a meeting of ourselves 
this evening, and leave her out — to take care of 


62 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


Zed,” she added in a confidential whisper to the 
other girls. ‘‘ Aunt Daffodil, have yon finished the 
‘Missing Bride,’ by the way ?” 

“1^0, my dear. I mislaid it yesterday, and have 
not been able to find it to-day.” 

“Find it for her, Follet, cZo,” whispered Carol, 
“ and let her go to bed.” 

The young woman addressed betook herself with 
alacrity to the recovery of the missing volume, and 
having discovered it, much rumpled, under the sofa 
cushion, proceeded to assist Aunt Daffy on her way 
to her bedchamber. 

“Shall I take Zeddie with me, my dears?” she 
inquired, as that urchin kicked up his shoeless heels 
in the doorway. 

“Oh, no, don’t bother,” responded Fly, “we’ll 
fix him. Now, Zeddie,” she continued, as the door 
closed on Aunt Daffodil, “ you must go straight to 
bed.” 

“I hate to sleep with girls, Auntie,” said the 
small boy, “’cause they talk so much. Will I 
have to sleep with all of you ?” 

“I’ll make you and the rearbug a couch of — 
down on the floor,” laughed his aunt, jerking off 
the little fellow’s buttonless, water-soaked shoes. 
“I really don’ t know who can tolerate you.” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


63 


“He thall tlileep with me,” said Dimple. “I 
don’t talk, Theddie, and yon may cuddle.” 

“ That’s all right,” responded Zeddie, manfully. 
“I just as lief throw away the rearbug ; or. I’ll tell 
you — I’ll tie him to the leg of the bed with a long 
thread.” 

“ All right — for me too,” declared Dimple ; “but 
Thed, thuppothe we have the end with the bug on, 
outthide the window.” 

And with this wise proviso for all concerned. 
Dimple disappeared upstairs with Zed. 

“ Let us now adjourn to my room,” said Carol, as 
Follet reappeared on the scene. “It is retired, and 
will meet the extreme exigencies of the occasion. 
We do not want Dimple anyway ; and she is sure 
to ^et sleepy.” 

So Dimple, excused, took into her soft embrace 
the weary baby. Zed ; and, in due time, the mys- 
terious confab in the upper room being terminated, 
there was silence and slumber in the Yilla Bo- 
hemia. 


CHAPTER YL 


‘‘MmE ET^EMY.” 

The animal gets over tlie ground, that’s some- 
thing,” said Follet. 

She was assisting Carol in harnessing the mare 
‘‘Sylph” in the barnyard, and the two girls dis- 
cussed, with much originality, the animal’s capa- 
bilities as a roadster. And there was considerable 
“ go ” in the beast, notwithstanding its rather 
remarkable anatomical display and subdued man- 
ner. 

“We ought to be thankful to Mr. Mahoney for 
letting her to us with the villa,” responded Carol. 

“She isn’t an ornament. I wouldn’t be seen 
driving her where I was acquainted,” was Follet’ s 
ungracious rejoinder. 

“ Fol-de-rol and nonsense !” cried Carol, jerking 
hard at an obstinate strap, and addressing Follet’ s 
bright head that was bobbing over a refractory 
buckle on the “off side,” “Who’s ashamed ? I am 
more than ready to drive Sylph over to the station 
any day. In the first place, all the fast horses I 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


65 


ever saw, ahem ! — in pictures — were uglier than a 
cross-saw ; all humps and hollows, and heads stuck 
straight out. No style — what-so-ever.” (Was 
Carol taking her teeth to that strap ?) And then, 
Follet — plague take this thing! — who on earth is 
to see us ? Whoa there. Sylph ! Whoa, I say 1” 
^‘Oh, Carol, I’m afraid he is getting downright 
vicious. He’s going to bite!” and Follet, seized 
with a panic, perfdrmed a sudden pas seul that 
landed her on a near straw heap. 

never saw a female yet who wasn’t afraid of a 
horse. Women are born cowards !” exclaimed 
Carol contemptuously, as she slyly recovered a. por- 
tion of a strap she had let fall when Follet took her 
by surprise. ‘^Of course he will bite if you show 
him 3 ^ou are afraid. Grood Sylph ! Whoa, pet ! 
There, now, 'you goosie, he’s all right.” Carol was 
earnestly and silently engaged for a few moments. 
“ Do come around here, Follet, and see where this 
end goes. Men invented harnesses, one might know 
— all intricacies and complications. If I were a 
horse I would not stand it !” 

Will you hold his head if I do?” asked Follet, 
tremulously. “Oh, my !” as the patient, long-suf- 
fering animal cast a suspicious side look at his two 
small manipulators. “I hate horses! You can’t 


66 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


depend on one of the beasts. I wish Mickey was 
here !” 

“Follet,” said the now thoroughly exasperated 
Carol, a man is as necessary to your existence as 
bread and butter. If anything goes wrong — a man ; 
if everything goes right, a man ; if things are indif- 
ferent, a man, until one would think life, according 
to your estimate, might be summed up in the mag- 
nificent product — a Man ! I do wish you would try 
to bear in mind our purpose in retiring to this se- 
clusion, and that we are capable human beings if 
we do wear petticoats. Afraid of a dilapidated old 
mare ! Shame on you, Follet 1” 

‘‘You’re quite afraid of him yourself,” retorted 
Follet, very red in the face. “It is a whole hour 
since you began to harness Sylph, and you haven’t 
got a particle of anytliing on his head yet.” 

“I am just about to put his — his head-gear on,” 
explained Carol, as she brought forward a milking 
stool with three rickety legs. “All in the world I 
ask, or expect of you, is to stand at his side and 
soothe him. ISTo horse likes to have blinders on his 
ears.” 

“Oh, Carol,” shouted Follet, “ those flat things 
don’t go over his poor old ears ; they are for his 
eyes ! I have often seen Mickey put them on.” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


67 


‘ ‘ W eil, ahem ! — maybe they do, but you need 
not be so uppish about it.” Carol was by this 
time teetering up and down on the stool, and look- 
ing cajolingly into the mare’ s eyes as she endeav- 
ored to adjust the head-gear.” Who, I beg to 
inquire, took the crupper strap off the mare’s tail 
to let his head down to the water trough ?” 

Just as Carol gave expression to this gentle re- 
minder of poor Follet’s sometime blunder, up went 
the mare’s roman nose high into the air and over- 
turned the milking stool, and only a confused and 
commingled mass of curls, skirts, and harness 
could be distinguished in the disturbed dust and 
straw of the barnyard mold. 

‘‘Save us!” screeched Follet, valiantly flying to 
the farthest extremity of the inclosure, sure that 
Sylph had, at last, gone stark, raving mad under 
their united indignities. 

Carol slowly arose and shook herself, and Follet 
returned, in a shamefaced mannei\ to assist in pick- 
ing up the damaged fragments of the feminine over- 
throw. 

“ Are you sure you are not hurt, dear Carol ? Did 
he bite — did he ?” 

“ He’s worse — worse than a — a tori3edo,” panted 
the vanquished young woman, with a rueful face. 


68 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


‘‘When he snorted I went straight dp into the air. 
Didn’t yon see me V’ 

“I did indeed. It was awful, Carol. Worse 
than the ascension of the Mill elites, for they al- 
ways are prepared.” 

“You needn’t laugh,” said Carol, in a tone of 
wounded dignity. “ It would be in better taste for 
you to come and harness the brute yourself. It 
has to be done somehow.” 

“Carol, I would not touch that mare for one mil- 
lion of dollars ! What will the girls do, waiting at 
the creek hungry and cross V ’ 

“ I don’t care what they do,” returned Carol, eye- 
ing Sylph savagely. “ Oh, you disgusting, obsti- 
nate, hateful old thing! I’ve a good mind to get 
the horsewhip and break every bone in your body. 
Whoa, sir! Whoa, I say!” as Sylph, concluding 
the harnessing farce at an end, proceeded to walk 
calmly into the stable. 

‘ ‘ What a bf ute he is ! I never knew he had such a 
bad temper,” moaned Follet, holding out her small 
hands imploringly in the rear of the moving ani- 
mal. “Don’t go. Sylph. Please stand still. Oh, 
Carol, what shall we, shall we do V ’ 

“Ahem! Good-day, ladies. Pardon me, but can 
I be of any assistance'^” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


09 


The girls started and involuntarily cried out, for 
over the wall that separated the pasture from the 
barn yard, leapt the agile figure of a young man 
who, notwithstanding his ill-fitting clothing, was 
both graceful and handsome. And in his hazel 
eyes, and about his moustached mouth lurked an 
audacious, aggravating smile of downright amuse- 
ment. 

Forgive my intrusion, I beg,” he began, depre- 
catingly. ^ ‘ I happened to witness your momentary 
dilemma — ” 

Carol turned fiercely upon the intruder, writhing 
inwardly with the consciousness of his having been 
a spectator to her downfall. 

Sir, these are private grounds. You cannot but 
be aware of the fact, for there is a signboard to that 
effect in the lane. N o men are permitted on these 
premises under penalty of the law.” 

Really, I must beg of you once more to over- 
look the intrusion, ladies,” returned the gentleman 
gravely. ‘Y came from the direction of the Big 
Farm, and did not, therefore, see the sign you speak 
of. I think I may, notwithstanding the trespass, 
be of some assistance, may I not ? Is the mare vi- 
cious ?” 

‘‘He tossed Carol,” Follet explained, and then 


70 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


blaslied beneath the stranger’s admiring dark eyes, 
at finding herself quite incapable of elegant expres- 
sion. She was awfully frightened.” 

“So were you,” retorted Carol, ruffled at being 
thrust into the foreground as the awkward figure of 
the occasion. 

Permit me to finish the harnessing,” said the 
self-possessed intruder, and thereupon he proceeded 
so to do without “let or hindrance,” while a still 
more amused expression quivered over his handsome 
face. 

“He is laughing at my buckling,” groaned Fol- 
let. 

“ A conceited jackanapes 1” snapped Carol. Close 
to the fence stood the two young women, over- 
whelmed with a mingled sense of ignominy and 
resentment, while this masculine invader tossed 
easily a strap here and there, and finally ended by 
turning the mare’s head to the gate ready for de- 
parture. 

“ I believe I have made all secure,” he said, lift- 
ing his straw hat and mopping his broad white 
forehead with a horribly coarse handkerchief. 
“And now, ladies (if the notice in the lane will 
permit), let me introduce myself to you — Mr. Lau- 
rence Lionel Lovel at your service. I am the person 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


71 


of wliom you may have heard through your landlord, 
Mr. Mahoney.” 

The girls retreated from their positidn in momen- 
tary amazement, and FoUet sat down unceremoni- 
ously on a pile of chips. 

‘ ^ I was led to infer, if I may be pardoned, that an 
arrangement had been satisfactorily made whereby 
my coming would not be altogether unexpected,” 
continued the stranger, who had sprung forward to 
miss the agile Follet in regaining her lost equi- 
librium. ‘ ‘ In fact, Mr. Mahoney, whom I have been 
with for some time, assured me that I would not be 
looked upon in the light of an intruder if I even 
made bold to ask a corner in your quiet old house 
for a time.” 

‘‘Yes, sir — that is — I really don’t know,” stam- 
mered Follet, dreadfully confused beneath Carol’s 
severely warning looks. 

“I know,” interrupted the last-named young 
woman, “that no convenient arrangement can be 
made. The other Bohe — the other girls — I mean, 
sir, the other inmates of the villa are at present 
absent, and we do nothing, absolutely nothing, 
without co-operation.” 

‘ ‘Carol, ’ ’ corrected Follet, softly, ‘ ‘you cannot have 
forgotten that Aunt Daffy told Fly that Mr.— Mr.— ” 


72 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


‘‘Lovel is my name, Miss.” 

That Mr. Lovel,” continued FoUet, never daring 
to cast another look at the indignant and gesticu- 
lating Carol, ‘‘was to occupy the east chamber of 
the villa.” 

“Thank you. Miss,” said the stranger, glibly. 
‘M am under great obligations, considering my em- 
barrassing position. ’ ’ 

“And if you wish, Mr. Lovel, I will show you 
your room immediately.” 

“Follet!” It was Carol’s last despairing and 
futile appeal. Follet had already started, picking 
her way daintily out of the barnyard, thereby ex- 
hibiting a very pretty pair of little feet, and the 
stranger was smilingly following like a wolf to the 
fold. 

“Laurence Lionel Lovel! A sweet, romantic 
name for a great six-footer of a man 1” soliloquized 
the discomfited Carol, as the couple disappeared 
into the old house. ‘ ‘ W ell, I did my duty accord- 
ing to my original resolution. I vetoed the whole 
proceeding from Aunt Dafiy’ s very first suggestion ; 
but the old lady is as obstinate as the mare. Ro- 
mantic, too, and old-fashioned. Oh, dear! As for 
Follet, she iDromised, on her word as a woman, 
she’d stand by me. It looks like it ! Just give a 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


73 


man a chance to look into her eyes, and ten to one 
she’ll follow him to the ends of the earth. She is 
as irrepressible as her annt, and twice as suscepti- 
ble. There is one thing I am positive of, Mr. Lau- 
rence Lionel Level,” — here Carol gave vent to a sniff 
of utter contempt of the cognomen — ‘‘you will never 
impose your masculine impertinence upon me. 
You’ll never put your great foot in my part of the 
villa. ISTever! Yever! Whoa, Sylph” — as the 
tired mare moved impatiently — “I say whoa! 
Follet 1 Fol — let ! I believe she’s stopping to talk 
to the wretch. I say — Follet !” 

Meanwhile that young woman heard nothing. 
With the manly footstep behind her, and a sense 
of betrayal of her girl comrade pressing heavily on 
her conscience, she hastily ran up the steps of the 
side door and into the east chamber of the villa, 
where the stranger was to be conveniently disposed 
of nearest the chicken-coo]3. 

It was a low-ceiled, gray- walled room, with the 
small-paned windoAVS looking squarely out upon 
the beds of “posies” Mickey so practically ob- 
jected to, and was draped about bed and dressing 
table with snow-white, fringed dimity, and was also 
most extraordinarily fresh in the matter of towels 
and tastefully arranged bouquets of flowers. Some 


74 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


woman’ s hand had lent a charm to it but recently. 
Was it Follet herself 1 

I am indeed in luck if these are my quarters !” 
exclaimed Mr. Lovel, glancing around him with a 
look of admiring approbation. trust Miss — 

Miss — ” 

“Follet,” responded that young woman from the 
door sill, where she hesitated ready for flight. 

“Excuse me. Miss Follet. I trust I am not 
depriving any one of the hospitable members 
of the household of her sleeping apartment. It 
is over dainty for one of my sex — and occupa- 
tion.” 

“Oh, no indeed!” cried the impulsive Follet, 
“We — that is. Aunt Daffodil decided some days 
since that we were to take you in.” 

“A happy fate, Miss Follet,” and a sly smile 
stirred the silky ends of a luxuriant moustache. 
“ I am glad I am not entirely unexpected, conse- 
quently not quite unwelcome.” 

“What a provokingly self-possessed creature,” 
Follet thought to herself, as she retreated a trifle. 
“Poor as he can be ; out at elbows, awfully shabby 
in the shoes, most forlorn as to his hat, and the 
grand air of a prince 1 Fly will take him down, 
poor fellow.” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


75 


Not— to Aunt Daffodil/’ said she aloud, with a 
wickedly prim expression about her red lips. 

‘‘I shall be most happy to pay my compliments 
to your good aunt, whenever it may be agreeable 
then. Miss Follet. She evokes my deepest grati- 
tude to her sex.” 

‘ ^ Sarcastic !” murmured Follet, under her breath. 
‘‘And not ill-bred, I must confess.” 

“ Shall it be immediately, please ?” 

“My aunt is asleep. It is the usual hour for her 
nap, sir.” Follet was overcome with a fearful 
vision of her aunt surprised in her red bandanna 
handkerchief and curlpapers by this irrepressible 
invader. She hastened to add, “No one ever dis- 
turbs Aunt Daffodil after her dinner, no one, not 
even Carol.” 

“Follet ! F-o-l-let !” the waiting girl in the barn- 
yard was making herself heard. 

“Your sister, Miss Follet, is very impatient,” 
quietly remarked the stranger. 

“She is not my sister, and she never waits for 
anything,” explained Follet, turning to go, a 
shadow of a pout under an embryo smile. ‘ ‘ I trust, 
Mr. Lovel, you will make yourself as comfortable 
as j)Ossible — in your room,” and then looking back, 
with a revival of saucy courage as the distance les- 


76 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


sened between them ; ‘ ‘ you are here on sufferance, 
entirely against the rules of the Yilla Bohemia. I 
am awfully sorry for you.” 

‘‘Be my friend then, do^ Miss Follet,” implored 
the young man, beseechingly, extending a pair of 
shapely hands toward the retreating girl. ‘ ‘ Be 
my friend and I shall feel entirely protected, and 
equal to any emergency.” 

“Follet ! I say Follet !” from the distance. 

“May I feol assured of your sympathy — your 
tolerance V ’ he persisted. 

Follet blushed, hesitated, looked about, and then 
stepped swiftly to the new comer, and her little soft 
hand touched for am instant his warm fingers, and 
was as quickly withdrawn. 

“Follet ! Follet, I say !” again from Carol. 

“Follet flies !” cried she, her blue eyes brighter 
and cheeks dimpling, and in a moment Laurence 
Lionel Lovel was alone. 

As he looked from the doorway some ten minutes 
later, he saw the old mare rattling the light, high- 
seated wagon over the rutty countr3^ road on its 
way to Crooked Creek, and the two Bohemiennes 
sat therein in close and animated discussion over 
“mine enemy.” ^ 


CHAPTER YIL 

CROOKED CREEK. 

It was tlie most capricious of streams, curving 
and dipping, dimpling and tumbling over and 
under and around balf tbe rocks and dells in the 
picturesque valley. And when the leaves, autumn 
tinted, swung their many colors over its glassy 
pools, and the ferns sprang like tremulous Qlfin 
forests along its shallower margins, and the fitful 
winds blew up the spray of its milk-white cas- 
cades, no lovelier bit of water could be found 
anywhere. 

So thought Fly and Dimple as, after their walk 
of three miles from the Yilla Bohemia, they threw 
themselves down upon its grassy edge ; while 
Mickey, blown ” from carrying Zed half the way, 
drew a long breath and exclaimed with true Irish 
enthusiasm : 

“It’s as foine a strame as ony in Ireland — barrin’ 
t!|;ie shnakes !” 

“Snakes!” screamed the startled girls, scram- 
bling wildly to their feet to the detriment of clean 


78 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


muslin skirts and eartk-clutcMng fingers. ‘ ‘ Snakes ! 
Oh, Mickey, where ? Do you see any V.^ 

‘^Divila wan,” Mickey replied, coolly knocking 
the ashes from his pipe. “ It was doin’ Justice to 
ould Ireland’s pathron saint, I was. Wud I be 
afther forgettin’ to remind mesilf that the no-legged 
bastes all shook their fut in his howly face and fied 
— to Ameriky V ’ 

‘^Dare not to insult me country, Mickey !” cried 
Fly, tragically. ‘‘Upon its sacred soil no traitor’s 
foot may tread, no traitor’s head may lie !” 

“Miss Fly, axin’ pardon, but it’s more stalin’ 
than lyin’ thot’s ruinin’ our charackthers as Amer- 
icans,” returned Mickey. “ Thot blatherin’ Dinnis 
they runned fur the Legislator, wasn’ t it him shure 
thot borrered me Sunday coat to wear to McCarty’ s 
wake ^ An’ nothin’ savin’ wan tail ov the same left 
to wear on me back, bod ’ cess till him ! An’ he laid 
it to the corpse, Miss, wid divil a bit ov respict fur 
the dead. Sez he : ‘ Mickey me bh’y, now don’t be 
complainin’,, fur whilst ye can whack a live mon ye 
can’t belabor a corpse wid ony degree ov satisfac- 
tion.’ An’ sez he, ‘ As thrue as I’m Misther Dinnis, 
as I was sittin’ as make as a lamb alongside McCarty, 
an’ the candles winkin’ an’ blinkin’ ; an’ the wakers 
takin’ on wid wailin’ an’ whisky, up raises the 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


79 


same — saints save his sonl — an’ sezhe, Dinnis, am 
I shrived An’ sez I, ye are, an’ the candles at yer 
head, and the same at yer f ut, an’ Aves enough to 
save the blackguard thot ye was. An’ sez he, inter- 
ruptin’, ‘‘Dinnis, an’ is it Mickey’s bist coat ye 
have on An’ sez I : It is, McCarty. An’ sez he : 
“ Be aftlier removin’ it an’ puttin’ it over me fate, 
they’re oncommon could.” An’ sez I : I’m mighty 
sorry to be onpolite to a corpse, but, sez I, Mickey 
lint me the coat, an’ vmd I be afther desthroyin’ me 
cridit an’ robbin’ the bh’ y by giving the same to an- 
other, an’ him, maybe, jist goin’ to purgatory — or 
wuss? sez I, manin’ no offinse. Whin at thot, up 
raises the corpse, ’ sez Dinnis, ‘ an’ give me whack 
forninst the eyes, an’ fell on the top ov me, an’ tore 
the coat from me back, dn’ divil knows f what he ^vud 
have done wid me if the beravin’ widdy, God kape 
her ! hadn’t been behint the dure wid MurjDhy the 
docther, an’ come to the savin’ ov me, an’ straight- 
ened the dead mon out, as she’ d been doin’ all his liv- 
in’ days. “Behave yersilf, McCarty !” sez she. “Be 
a dacint mon. Dinnis is fur the Legislator. W ud ye 
be raisin’ up agin him ?” But sez Dinnis — the vil- 
lain !” — continued Mickey, “sezhe: ‘Mickey, an’ 
it’ s sorry I am to say it, but your bist coat is ruined.’ 
An’ sez I : Dinnis, ye’ll give me a new wan. 


80 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


begorra ! An’ sez he : ‘ Divil a wan. An’ am I 
responsible fur the doin’ s ov a corpse V Upon thot, 
Miss, I give him an Irish whack, for remimberin’ 
loike, an’ now he’s in the Legislator. An’ maybe. 
Miss Fly, it’s the place fur him.” Here Mickey 
gave vent to a long sigh in memory of the tale of the 
Sunday coat. 

“ Why, Mickey, how can your good people do 
such dreadful things at a luneraU” asked Fly, 
choking with suppressed merriment, but feeling 
it on her conscience to rebuke the little Irishman. 

‘‘ Wakes isn’t funerals. Miss,” he replied. “We 
bury our dead quiet an’ dacint ; them are sociables 
loike, an’ takes the edge off the grafe ov the rela- 
tions.” 

“Mickey,” said Fly, after a silence of a few 
moments, during which time he puffed away 
assiduously, “Mickey, Miss Dimple and Zed have 
gone into the woods after specimens. If you have 
no objection I should prefer to be alone. I wish to 
continue my reading on the Progress of Anthropol- 
ogy. I will call you later and the young woman 
of intellectual tendencies opened a weighty volume, 
with smooth covers, and turned her black eyes per- 
sistently upon its contents. 

Mickey paused to knock out the ever-recurring 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


81 


ashes from his beloved pipe, and then, with a pro- 
longed whistle prudently repressed, turned on his 
heel, and disappeared in the thicket near at hand. 

‘‘She’s the sly wan,” he mused, gazing reflec- 
tively up through the shimmering tree boughs. 
“ Wasn’t I afther seein’ the scrap ov writin’ paper 
an’ the pencil behint the big book, wid the hay then 
name onto it ? Mickey, me bh’ y, thim gurrels will 
be the spilin’ ov yez yet. There’s no safety wid 
’em !” 

* * * * * 

“Theddie,” narrated Dimple, as the two broke 
their way through the undergrowth of the wood 
and stood in a green clearing near a bit of water, 
termed the “Fairy Spring,” “it ith where a great 
ugly dwarf drowned a beautiful golden- haired, 
blue-eyed lady becauthe the wouldn’t conthent to 
be hith wife.” 

“Is she in there?” inquired Zed, peering over 
with awesome eyes into the clear depths of the broad 
pool. 

“Oh, yeth, the ith there! The can’t get out, 
dear, but thometimeth the can rithe far enough 
to thow her fathe and white armth, and then, 
Thed, the thrithe to catch people and pull them 
down.” 

G 


82 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


“ Never can come way up and walk, cousin Dim- 
ple 

“No — at leatht never till thorn e brave man 
jumptli into the water and cutth the rooth that grow 
round and round her and hold her fatht.” 

Zed gazed longingly down into the depths. 

“There, dear,” lisped Dimple, frightened at the 
effect of her fairy tale, ‘ ‘ it ithn’ t thafe to go tho 
near. You might fall in your own little thelf, and 
then what would become of me 

“I'd like to cut her up!” said Zed, slashing 
about with a hemlock branch. “ One whack, and 
she’s a goner 1” 

“Be careful, Thed 1 Oh, do take care 1 Theddie ! 
Theddie ! Thtop! Thtop !” 

But the terrified Dimple’ s cries were of no avail ; 
before she could reach the boy with her outstretched 
arms, he had lost his balance in leaning far over the 
pool, to “cut up the beautiful lady,” and was 
struggling wildly in the water. 

The pool was broad enough to permit of the child’s 
drifting beyond the girl’s frenzied reach, and the 
bright little head and upheld baby hands went down 
amid her screams for help, that reverberated shrilly 
through the wood. 

“ Help ! Help 1 Help !” And Dimple, distracted 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


83 


beyond discretion and the sense of danger, was 
about to hurl herself into the water beside her dar- 
ling, when a iDair of strong arms clasped her and 
threw her aside. Then a great splash was heard in 
the Fairy Spring, and in a moment Zeddie, not yet 
unconscious, was sputtering and rolling in Dimple’s 
lap, while she, poor little girl, fell back fainting in 
the grass. 

‘‘Please make an effort to drink some of this,” 
were the first words intelligible to Dimple’s ringing 
ears. “It will revive yon. Please try.” 

Dimple choked and then swallowed a draft of 
wine held against her white lips. Her conscious- 
ness returned, and she involuntarily stretched out 
her arms after the little boy. 

“Oh, Theddie ! come to me !” she cried. “You 
are thafe ! You are thafe ! If you had drowned I 
thud have died too!” and then she turned her 
eyes, under their long tear-glistening lashes, upon 
Zed’s preserver, who stood in the background 
with dripping clothes and a handsome, boyish 
face. 

“Is she corned up?” asked ^ed, rubbing his 
eyes for the hundredth time and wiggling, lilve a 
wet puppy, out of Dimple’s detaining arms. And 
then his astonished gaze fell upon the young 


84 


THE VILLA I50HEMIA. 


stranger. ‘^Was she — was she — a man, cousin 
Dimple V ’ 

Dimple smiled faintly and looked at the boy — 
for lie was a mere lad of nineteen — to receive a 
smile in response. 

‘‘He meanth,” she lisped, “the lady of the 
thpring. He fell in trying to cut her loothe. Oh, 
Theddie, how could you be tho naughty ? What 
will Fly thayf’ and Dimple trembled and sobbed 
for what might have been. 

“She won’t know a thing about it ii you don’t 
tell her, cousin Dimple, and my clothes gets dry,” 
responded Zed. ‘ ‘ I don’ t want her to know. Grirls 
holler and scream and make such a fuss. I wouldn’ t 
tell ’em nothin’.” 

^‘May I ask who Fly is, my boy inquired the 
stranger, making friendly advances that were not 
repelled by the sociable Zed; “and I should like 
to know your name too.” 

“I’m Zed. I guess everybody knows me, 
’cause mamma says I’m always in everybody’s 
way. And Fly is my aunt, and a buUy one, 
too ; makes kites and plays marbles when she 
ain’t cross. This is cousin Dimple, only she 
ain’t any blood relation, she says, only a skin- 
deep cousin. I don’t care what she says — ^no- 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


85 


body can’ t have her ; she said so last night. Says 
she—” 

“Theddiel” warned the blushing Dimple, ‘‘what 
dothe mamma thay about little boyth being 
heard 

“AYell,” returned Zed, sullenly, “I guess I’ve 
been ‘seen’ often enough ; and I swanny it’s so! 
Dimple’s going to marry me when I’m growd and 
can shave 1” 

Dimple and the tall lad looked at each other, and 
then burst into an irrepressible and uproarious fit 
of laughter, while Zed frowned and eyed them with 
the prophetic eyes of jealous babyhood. 

“It ith too bad to laugh at him,” said Dimple, 
contritely, hugging Zed and drawing severely down 
the corners of her rosebud mouth. 

“ Poor little fellow, tho wet and cold 1 Come, we 
mutht go ; and firtht, Theddie, go and thank Mithter 
— Mithter — ’ ’ 

“Archibald Moore is my name. Miss Dimple; 
Artie, for short, among my chums.” 

‘ ‘ Theddie, Theddie, do you hear me 1 Go thith 
minute ! Take your fingerth out of your mouth and 
thay : ‘I am thankful, Mithter Moore,’ ” demanded 
Dimple. But the small boy was granite in his ob- 
stinacy. 


86 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


Never mind thanks, Miss Dimple,” said Archi- 
bald Moore, coming to the rescue. ‘ ‘ The little chap 
is too limp for gratitude. That comes in hours of 
self-satisfaction. T 11 take you home. Zed. Come 
along, up you go !” and, without further ceremony, 
Artie — for short — swung the child up to his broad 
shoulder. 

‘‘Now, Miss Dimple, which way he asked. 

“ The girlth are over near the Creek. They don’t 
— they think — they are not prepared, thir — to meet 
— to meet young men.” 

Poor Dimple was dreadfully confused. What 
would Fly say if she were the cause of bringing a 
stranger of the forsworn sex right into her presence ? 
Dimple blushed like a “ red, red rose.” 

“They need not mind me,” returned Artie. 

‘ ‘ One does not expect people to be dressed for a 
reception in the country. Come along, my boy! 
Hang on!” and with “by your leave. Miss Dim- 
ple,” he strode ahead of her, breaking a way 
through the tangled thicket, toward the spot where 
Fly and the other girls anxiously awaited the 
truants. 

“They are coming! Where have you been?” 
greeted them as they emerged from the wood. Dim- 
ple, now in advance, consciously dimpled and rosy, 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


87 


Zed triumphant and trickling, and Artie tall and 
tramping. 

‘‘An’ it’s mesilf has been lost agin an’ agin tind- 
in’ ov yez !” complained Mickey, nervously lighting 
his neglected pipe. 

“Dimple,” said Carol, eyeing the strange young 
man with threatening severity, “I hope you^have 
thought of Its once.” 

“ Why, goodness me ! What has ever happened 
to that boy ! Zed, what have you done now sud- 
denly exclaimed Fly, realizing the drenched condi- 
tion of her nephew and his preserver. 

“Oh, Zeddie, what has happened?” came in 
terrified chorus from Follet and Carol. 

“Don t all talk to once !” cried Zed, sliding down 
like a little eel from Mr. Moore’s arms. “Girls 
haint got sense, I tell you. It was nothin’, was it. 
Cousin Dimple?” 

“ Theddie fell into the Fairy Thpring,” explained 
Dimple, imparting the unpleasant piece of informa- 
tion as briefly as possible, and at the same time 
stealing a glance of admiration at Artie, who was 
listening calmly, and leaning in the most completely 
self-possessed manner against a tree trunk. Evi- 
dently the quartet of severe Bohemiennes did not 
overcome him in the least. 


88 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


Tlie girls simultaneously made a rush, to embrace 
the surviving Zed, who managed to slip from the 
six embracing arms with the celerity of a very 
small boy ; and, while Dimple underwent a strict 
examination as to the ‘ ‘ whys and wherefores ’ ’ of 
his accident, he sat in satisfied silence on the high 
seat of the wagon tickling the aggravated ears of 
the patient mare with the long-lashed whip. 

‘‘Thith ith Mithter Moore,” Dimple said, by way 
of an introduction, as she wound up her somewhat 
confused narration. ‘‘You will have to thank him 
for thaving Theddie — he wouldn’t.” 

“lam only fortunate to have been on hand. Out 
gaming, I heard Miss Dimple call for help, and, as 
luck would have it, reached the pool at the right 
moment and Mr. Moore began to back out grace- 
fully, glancing principally at Dimple, who blushed 
redder than before. “ I can believe that Master 
Zed has a career before him, and wilDnot die be- 
fore his time,” he added, smiling over at the small 
boy. 

“ A career, indeed,” responded Fly, emphatically, 
“ if his past goes for anything !” 

“A successful one, I am sure,” returned the self- 
possessed Artie,' “if the daily influences of the 
Graces can avail,” and, with a courteous “good- 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


89 


day, ladies,” he was soon heard afar singing, as he 
tramped through the wood. 

Well ! I hope he has assurance and to spare !” 
exclaimed the astounded Carol. “ One would think 
we had all smiled at him, instead of frowned, 
and given him to understand we only tolerated 
him on account of his — happening to be at the 
pool !” 

‘‘Carol,” rebuked Fly, her own cheeks highly 
colored at tlie masculine trespass, “we are not in- 
grates. But, for my own part, I feel it only proper 
that Dimple should be made to understand how 
stringent our code of law is. If she had not been 
allowed to come off the premises of the Yilla Bohe- 
mia this invasion of masculinity would never have 
been. The next time — ” 

“Oh, Fly, stop scolding,” said Follet, all eager 
curiosity, “and let Dimple get a word in edgewise. 
Who is he ? Where does he live ? How long was 
he with you ? How did it all happen ?” 

“I can’t anther everything at onthe,” complained 
poor little badgered Dimple ; “and bethidth, Thed- 
die ith wet. to the thkin.” 

“Forgive me, my darling!” and Fly flew to the 
philosophic Zed. “How could I neglect you so^ 
Grilis, it all comes from that young man s intrusion. 


90 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


Wherever the sex intrudes there is trouble. Come 
on, Dimple, tell us going home.” 

And so they rattled away homeward, Mickey 
having taken the road some time previous, and 
Dimple, unmolested, related her adventure, to which 
Zed appended his version, winding up with : 

I tell you every one, there wa’n’t any beautiful 
lady in the pool. She’ d have got me by the legs, 
sure — and the other man too.” 

In return for her interesting narrative. Dimple re- 
ceived a graphic and contradictory report from 
Follet and Carol, of the arrival and housing of Mr. 
Laurence Lionel Lovel. 

‘‘ Two of the masculine persuasion in one day !” 
declared the outraged Fly. “Girls, if this con- 
tinues, we’ll go West.” 

‘ ‘ That’ 11 be bully !’ ’ said Zed, jubilantly. ‘ ‘ They’ s 
Ingins there. You girls ’ll be squaws.” 

Carol sniffed, with her small nose turned con- 
temptuously up, as they alighted at the front porch 
of the villa. 

“ There is a vile suspicion of masculinity in the 
air,” said she. 

“It is a horrid cigar!” snapped Fly ; “ and oh, 
girls, there he is now 1” 

Whereupon the four Bo hemiennes, seizing Zed, dis- 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


91 


appeared like fluttering doves into tke protection of 
a dove-cote, and the door of tke villa closed upon 
tkem. 

Micky led away the weary mare. 

‘‘An’ it’s a mane mon I am, but I’ll have the 
foine time relatin’ to the bh’y the doin’ s an’ sayin’s 
ov thim gurrels. The bate ov thim aint livin’.” 


CHAPTER YIIT. 


TO THE PEOFESSOE. 

‘‘ Be easy, I tell you, Mick, or we shall have the 
qiieen-bee of tlie hive down on ns,” warned Mr. 
Laurence Lionel Lovel, as he sat in his new apart- 
ment, discussing the matters concerning the villa 
and its farm surroundings. 

An’ divil a wan is dangerous, Misther Ed — ” 

a?gh !” 

“Misther — Misther Lovel, I mane, barrin’ Miss 
Fly when she’s plazed wid herself, an’ maybe. 
Miss Carol whin she isn’t. The gurrels are as soft 
as butthermilk, an’ Miss Follet, she’s the crame ov 
the crame.” 

“ You seem to be on pretty intimate terms with 
the young maidens. How did you manage it, 
Mick V ’ asked Mr. Lovel, looking quizzically over 
his meerschaum at the little Irishman.” 

“ Maybe it’s me good looks, an’ maybe, me man- 
ners done it, Misther Ed — I mane — Ahem ! Mis- 
ther — ” 

“Rub up your memory, Mickey,” warned the 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


93 


young man again. ‘‘You’ll get me into a scrape. 
Lover s my name — Lovel.” 

“ Shure, your own mother wudn’ t be afther recog- 
nizing you wid it. It’s a hay then syllabub !” 

“Never mind the euphony, Mick; stick to the 
incog and the pronunciation. My future depends 
upon it. And now just state that matter of Far- 
rand. Was the lease of the South acres satisfac- 
tory ?” 

And so the two men fell into a business talk — a 
trifle desultory on Mickey’s part — and when the 
pipes went out the candles were lighted. 

Rap. Rap. Rap. 

It was a gentle demonstration by small knuckles, 
and then, responding to a “Come in !” the door was 
hesitatingly pushed ajar, and a white hand insinu- 
ated itself, holding a tray on which stood, in tempt- 
ing array, toast, tea, and ruby marmalade. 

“For — Mr. Lovel,” said Follet’s voice, uncertain- 
ly feeble and sweet. 

“Thanks. Do come in. lam sure I am — ” and 
Laurence Lionel Lovel, dropping his meerschaum 
on the floor in his agitation, sprang toward the 
shadowy entrance. But before his hospitable ob- 
ject could be attained, the tray was deposited, with 
a crash, on the door sill, and the carrier was half 


94 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


way downstairs. Mr. Lovel gazed into vacancy for 
a moment, then gathered up his supper and re- 
turned to Mickey, with a low laugh of suppressed 
amusement. 

‘‘It’s chasin’ the ‘ will-o’ -the wisp ’ to catch wan 
ov thim, Misther Ed — Ahem!” blundered Mickey, 
with sly exultation. “Indade, ivery mother’s son 
ov them has her own particular way, an’ she goes it ! 
It’s the time they’re givin’ ould Mickey, fwhat wid 
the rheumatiz” — here the little Irishman puffed 
hard, and glanced askance at his companion. 

‘ ‘ By the way, Mick, that reminds me ; I don’ t 
see as you are, to any dangerous degree, ‘ tied hand 
and fut ’ by your old rheumatic enemy ? You were 
as lively as a cricket in getting the young ladies out 
of the wagon.” 

“ Thim’s the imergencies ov the sitivation, Misther 
Ed — I mane, begorra, Lovel.” 

“Be careful.” 

“I’ve been thot bad whisky couldn’t save me 1” 

“A clear case for the anatomical preserves, Mick! 
And now I’ll be obliged to bid you good-night, for 
I’ve a letter or two to write, and I must gather up 
my wandering wits.” 

“An’ it’s little ov thot last ye’ll have, Misther 
Edward Mahoney, when ye’ve been, like mesilf. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


95 


awhile undher ]petticoat governmint,” soliloquized 
the Irishman, as he proceeded, smoking vigorously, 
homeward. 

Laurence Lionel Lovel, with a healthy yawn, be- 
took himself to the writing of his letter : 

“My Dear Leoi^: 

“Here am I in the nest of femininity itself. Only 
one small boy and the irrepressible Mickey dispute 
with your humble servant the honors of sole liomme^ 
and I am bound to confess that my original courage 
is fast oozing out from my resolute heart at the 
prospect of further movements either offensive or 
defensive.' , 

‘ ‘ Mickey (of whom you have heard much) has gone 
far, during this evening’ s conversation, to weaken 
my once valiant spirit. He has given me such a 
graphic account of his own perils and encounters 
among these little Bohemiennes (as they are pleased 
to term themselves), that positively I tremble in 
anticipation of an overwhelming defeat. But, my 
dear old chum, I have sworn to end^my bachelor- 
hood and take upon myself the duties and dignities 
of a Benedict as soon as possible ; and where should 
, one find the ‘ queen rose ’ if not in a ‘ garden of 
girls 

“As I shall supplement this somewhat prolix state- 
ment of facts with a request Avhich, I am sure, you 
will never refuse me, let me strengthen the same 
with an attempted description of these terrors and 
temptations in petticoats. 


96 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


First, (if age goes for anything) : Miss Fly, slen- 
der, tall and as graceful as a young willow ; of a 
decided brunette type, rather apt to flash than to 
languish ; given to govern and gush a trifle. Mick 
says she is stage-struck, and frightened him for days 
by ranting over the place with fury in her eyes and 
dramatic dialogue in her discourse. She is a sworn 
foe to man, and doomed to high tragedy and single 
blessedness. Has come down to the old place to 
study elocution and practice gymnastics. Second : 
Miss Carol, petite, and as restless as a terrier ; with 
mobile features, wicked blue-gray eyes, wavy chest- 
nut hair — and a temper. Mickey says she has the 
wit of the ‘de’il,’ is reflective withal, and wastes 
hours shut in a ‘ den ’ in the attic, engaged in liter- 
ary labors. Also an active foe to our sex, and given 
up to fiction, fame and freedom. Third : Miss Fol- 
let. Lovely ! A bit on the languishing order, with 
the most melting and seductive of blue eyes, golden 
hair and the prettiest form, by Jove ! the^ female 
world boasts of. Also (here imagine a sigh, old fel- 
low), given over to vows of spins terhood. Rather 
poetic in her pendencies, but principally interested 
in improving her mind, somewhat neglected through 
having been left the motherless daughter of an itin- 
erant preacher now among the heathen. And last : 
Oh, Hebe ! Miss Dimple. A mere child of ‘ sweet 
sixteen,’ or thereabouts, tiny, tender, and all 
blushes and dimples as her name implies. An atom 
of nature as yet unformed and unspoiled ; an or- 
phan waif of no developed characteristics, fallen 
into the keeping and Idsses of the ‘ Villa Bohemia.’ 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


97 


“I pause, my dear Leon, for your consideration, 
and beg tlie benefit of your superior judgment and 
experience ; all of which, to be of use to me, must 
be ‘on the spot.’ Therefore, I entreat you, ‘an’ 
you love me,’ hasten to my side. Your vacation at 
the University leaves you free to come ; there will 
be a' room (prolific of intellectual results) prepared 
for you at the Big Farm, where I am duly fed, and 
I promise you fan ad libitum by the way. 

‘ ‘ Remember (I shall break Mickey’ s head yet be- 
fore I can drive the idea into him) that I am strictly 
incog . — Laurence Lionel Level, at your service. I 
thought the alliteration easy of recollection. 

“In this disguise I’ll ‘do and do,’ or else I am 
forsworn to an eternity of single misery. Keep me 
not in suspense, lest I languish in well-doing, and, 
believe me, old chum, 

“ Yours faithfully, 

“Edward MAHO]srEY, 

‘ ‘ alias 

“Laurence Lionel Lovel.” 


7 


4 


CHAPTER IX. 

AETFUL AETIE. 

Aunt Poke, always behind time (as her name im- 
plies), grumbled grievously as she flapped out the 
Monday’s wash in the side yard of the villa. 

‘ ‘ Shoo ! shoo dah, I say ! I ’ spises creeturs roun’ 
wha’ I is. Shoo dah, you fool chicken ! Got no 
sense in your gizzard V' and a dripping towel struck 
the long-legged rooster, that was trespassing on the 
drying patch, square in his innocent eyes. 

‘‘Oh, my!” expostulated Carol’s voice from a 
window high up in the tangle of woodbine that 
overran one end of the old house. “Oh, my, Aunt 
Poke ! 

‘ ‘ Don’t let your angry passions rise, 

And flap out poor young Pompey’s eyes.” 

“Why, auntie!” chimed in Dimple’s lisp from 
the sunny porch. “ Pomp ithn’t to blame at all ! 
We taught him to be thothable with crumb th and 
thingth. He wath rathed from the thell with uth 
girlth, you know.” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


99 


I donno notliin’ ’bout liow de fool chicken was 
raised, miss,” grumbled the old colored woman in a 
more respectful tone ; she was sure to be mollified 
in times of wrath by dimpled Dimple, but dis yere 
wash ’d ’yoke a preachaw, sho’s you bawn ! Sich a 
mix of close Inevah seed ; sich stains an’ dirt. Hi ! 
de Lawd knows dis nig can’t git ’em out, no how !” 

‘ ‘ Thtainth and dirt. Aunt Poke V ’ inquired Dim- 
ple, innocently, surveying the flapping articles 
held up for her inspection. ‘ ‘ Thurely not on my 
clothe !” 

‘‘Ain’t dis your’n, an’ dis, an’ dis. Miss?” and 
Aunt Poke shook her head indignantly as she ex- 
hibited a little ruffled apron dyed with peach stains, 
a handkerchief moiled with purple ink, and various 
smirched and abused garments. 

“That apron ith mine,” confessed Dimple, con- 
tritely. “ I wiped Theddieth fathe with it, tho’ Fly 
wouldn’t punith him. But that ith Folleth’ thkirt ; 
the hath been trying to paint the front entry red 
with black panelth with Moorith effect. And — yeth 
I am thertain that ith Flyth’ very own pillow- 
cathe. The wath doing Othello all thmeared up 
with lard and burnt cork, auntie.” 

The old colored servant shook her head still more 
dolefully. 


100 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


‘‘I nivali seed sich doins’ afo’, Miss Dimple. My 
young missy, way down ole Ya’giny — ” 

Now, when Aunt Poke once fairly mounted her 
hobby — which was personal reminiscence — she al- 
ways sat perfectly still and did nothing. The 
inmates of the villa had suffered therefrom many a 
half-cooked meal, many a delayed pleasure and 
dilatory duty ; so Carol (who, during Dimple’ s dis- 
cussion with Aunt Poke, had had .one unliterary ear 
out of the window) suddenly blew a shrill and warn- 
ing whistle, whereat Dimple giggled understand- 
ingly and interrupted the narrator in her backward 
peregrinations. 

‘‘Auntie,” said she, with sudden volubility, “it 
ith true you have an awful wathe to-day. Thall I 
take hold and help? Of courthe I know how. 
Jutht pleathe bring me the big calico thunbonnet 
(that will thcare Pomp away), and roll up my 
thleevth, and tie thith towel ’ round my neck. There ! 
Now, what had I better hang fintht. Auntie? Go 
away, Pompey, you naughty little ihing ! Go right 
away, thir ! He ith very aggravating. Aunt Poke, 
ithn’t he?” as the Shanghai stalked back and forth 
in the young girl’ s pathway. ‘ ‘ He needth develop- 
ment.” 

“Dimp,” called Carol, in hilarious enjoyment of 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


101 


the scene below, “pray, how much do you charge a 
dozen ? 

“Oh, little maid, little maid, renewer of my linen, 

I ne’er before, in all my life, saw washer half so winnin’,” 

sang the embryo poetess from among the woodbine. 

“Attend to your own linthe!” retorted Dimple, 
a clothespin between her teeth, a wet sheet that 
would trail in the dirt over one small arm, and the 
provoking rooster pecking at imaginary crumbs of 
sweetness about her little feet. 

“And then come down and read them to Pomp, 
you lathy girl ! That will thcare him away. Fly 
thayth you are a perfect little drone, and — ’’ 

But before Dimple could give expression to the 
rest of her not altogether elegant objurgation, 
Carol’s head had disappeared like a star gone out 
before its time, Aunt Poke’s turban had fallen awry 
from sheer amazement, the Shanghai had retreated 
mth crestfallen feathers, and Dimple, her rosy 
mouth still open with dimpled impertinence, was 
standing in the presence of a lady, a stranger of ma- 
jestic manner and unexceptionable toilette. 

“Mornin’, maam,” said Aunt Poke, dropping a 
low courtesy, the first to regain a decent degree of 
polite composure. 


102 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


Gobble ! Gobble, gobble, gobble ! The turkey- 
cock offered his unexpected compliments. 

Dimple dropped the clothespin and sheet, and 
blushed and lisped hopelessly from beneath the 
scarecrow of a yellow sunbonnet. 

“Excuthe me, i)leathe ; I am thure we didn’t ex- 
pect anybody. That ith, I mean— of courthe, we are 
very glad to thee you.” Then, desperately, ‘‘Do 
walk in, ma’am.” 

“Thank you; you are very kind,” replied the 
lady with magnificent composure, and her silken 
gown seemed, to poor Dimple’s ears, to rustle omi- 
nously as she raised her hand to replace her eye- 
glasses. “My servant failed to effect an entrance 
at the front door. Are the ladies at home 

“Yeth’m — that ith, .thome of them are,” stam- 
mered the girl, a wild hope flashing through her 
brain that she was mistaken for the “other help.” 
“ Pleathe come thith way.” 

Dimple had distractedly torn off the hideous 
bonnet from her yellow, silken head, and stood ex- 
posed, with her blushing, cherub face turned to 
the broad sunlight. The stranger surveyed her 
closely. 

“I believe I am not mistaken in addressing you 
as Miss Dimple she said. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


103 


Dimple, taken by surprise, stumbled awkwardly 
over the long towel still tied tightly about her neck, 
and only recovered herself after much choking. 

‘‘Yetli’m — ^that ith — I am Mith Dimple, I’m 
thure. ’ ’ 

^‘My son, Archibald Moore, Miss Dimple, has in- 
formed me of the privilege he enjoyed in forming 
your acquaintance. It was certainly under most 
peculiar and trying circumstances.” 

‘ ‘ Y eth’ m — rather. ’ ’ 

I trust the child he so fortunately rescued has 
not suffered materially from the exposure 

Oh, no, ma’am, I atthure you not in the leatht. 
Theddie — ” 

‘‘ Hallo, -Cousin Dimp ! What you want of me? 
I’ve been helping Mickey clean out the pig-sty. 
It was awfal good fun !” 

‘‘Oh, Thed!” 

It was all the expression Dimple was capable of. 
The horrors of her situation accumulated, for the 
boy, only distinguishable for dirt and destruction, 
stood directly before the dainty visitor with the 
serenest composure and sauciest air of self-satisfac- 
tion. 

“I’m well, ma’am, are you?” he inquired in a 
tone of heartrending familiarity ; and, before Dim- 


104 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


pie could interfere, his small black hand was thrust 
squarely into the lady’s delicately gloved fingers. 
Dimple sprang to the rescue. 

You mutht pleathe excuthe him, ma’am. He 
ith a naughty boy. Go right away, thir,” de- 
manded the girl, goaded beyond herself. ‘‘Go 
thith moment!” Then turning to the stranger: 
“I[ you will walk into the houthe, ma’am, I will 
call the other girlth.” 

And, having seated Archibald Moore’ s mother in 
the old-fashioned parlor of the Villa Bohemia, Dim- 
ple fied upstairs to the waiting Carol, her eyes full 
of tears and her soul overwhelmed with mortifica- 
tion. 


'.i ^ ^ * * 

“A most peculiar arrangement, Archibald, and 
altogether unconventional, and, I may say, im- 
proper,” said Mrs. Moore the evening following her 
visit to the villa. “Four young women, without a 
chaperone^ setting up housekeeping in defiance of 
all social rules and regulations ! Nothing good will 
come of it, I am sure.” 

“Why, mother, the young ladies have a chaper- 
one. Did you not see Aunt Daffodil ?” 

“I saw no responsible person, my son; and my 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


105 


earnest desire is that you will avoid the place, and 
not become a visitor there.” 

‘‘Become a visitor !” laughed the handsome Artie, 
quite satisfied with having inveigled his conven- 
tional mother into a formal call at the villa, thereby 
establishing a social claim on the resident young 
women. “The very strictest of all their ridiculous 
rules is that no fellow shall be received ; they have 
even got a notice to that effect on a signboard in the 
lane. I never for a moment, mamma, thought of 
getting in there except by strategy.” 

“I must beg of you, Archibald, not to. speak in 
such a tone of levity. I have gratified your wish in 
calling, and that is quite sufficient. My visit was 
most awkward. I found the young person. Dimple, 
not presentable, hanging clothes, and the other, 
Carol (most extraordinary names !) met me, ink- 
stained and disheveled, with the composed air of a 
small princess. They are not our kind of people, 
my son.”’ 

Archie laughed again, and his lady mother 
frowned up, in response, at his bonny, dehonalr 
face, with a vague feeling that her reign with him 
as social arbiter was fast passing away. 

“They have not come down to the old rookery to 
‘do’ society,” he said, after a somewhat prolonged 


106 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


and embarrassing silence. ‘ ‘ I like tliem for their 
independence and projects. Girls are getting to be 
mere figure-heads in our world. W as Miss Dimple 
really hanging up clothes, mother ? By Jove ! she 
must have looked too pretty for anything ! Now, 
dear darling mother, acknowledge — is she not 
lovely V ’ 

“A mere pink and white doll, Archibald, and 
quite too entirely a child to be the subject for ad- 
miration, or attention by any young man — quite,” 
and Mrs. Moore’s white and bejeweled fingers 
worked nervously in and out among her worsteds. 

‘‘Now, most beautiful of mammas” — it was the 
boy’s customary fashion of coaxing — “why will 
you be hard on your one big baby 1 It is awfully 
lonesome at the Heights. You often confess that 
yourself ; and at times, I freely admit, I am resolved 
to go somewhere else for next month. Didn’t I 
leave all the rest of the fellows and come down here 
to please you ? Eight in the boating season, too ! 
The girls at the old house are ladies, mamma. Was 
I not brought up with you, and am I not, neces- 
sarily, a judge ? You must acknowledge I am right, 
only you are afraid your one boy will lose his 
heart. Don’t ever worry about ihat. I will take 
the best care of Archibald Moore. And mamma. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


lor 


dear mamma” — here a few kisses on the delicate 
mother-cheek — ‘‘why can we not have the young 
ladies over at the Heights some afternoon, for a 
game of crocjLiet and one of your jolly teas ? Do, 
dearest mamma. It would positively be an act of 
charity, and it would give you the opportunity to 
judge of the strangers yourself.” 

Mrs. Moore was relenting ; the frown was lifted 
from her still smooth brow, an affectionate smile be- 
gan to curve and sweeten her well-cut lips, and, after 
arfew more seductive compliments and caresses, 
Artie, as usual, accomplished his purpose ; and his 
mother, proud of her purse, her patronage, and her 
son and heir, had promised to invite the Bohemi- 
ennes to a social gathering. 

* * * ¥: * * x- 

“I do not for a moment doubt that he sent her 
here,” asserted Fly after she, returned from an 
errand, had been informed concerning Mrs. Moore’s 
visit. “It is just a sly masculine ruse to effect an 
entrance to the viUa. Dimple, you must have se- 
riously encouraged that impertinent youth.” 

“Indeed, Fly, oh, indeed, I didn’t!” cried 
Dimple with pitiful vehemence, feeling at the mo- 
ment, that she hated the entire Moore family for 


108 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


the ignominy experienced during the morning call, 
‘‘It wath Thed !” 

“You wicked, wicked boy!” exclaimed Fly, 
turning upon poor Zeddie who found it impossible 
to make a worse face with his mouth stuffed with 
bread and butter. “You are continually getting 
us into trouble. There is no peace in the villa 
since we took you in !” 

“I am positively falling away with his capers,” 
added Carol, mournfully inspecting her very small 
arm. “ When Zed sees me fly up into thin air on 
a broomstick — ” 

“ Boo-hoo ! Boo-oo ! Boo-hoo-oo 1” 

“There now, girls, see what you have done!” 
cried the sympathetic, tender-souled Follet, clasp- 
ing her soft, loving arms about the yelling, heart- 
broken boy. “You are cruel creatures, and know 
nothing about the yearning affection of a little in- 
nocent. Never mind them, darling. I love you.” 

“Audi!” 

“Audi!” 

“Audi!” 

“Come to Aunt Daffy, my precious,” said the 
old lady, appearing over the threshold with a fresh 
gingerbread horse in her hand. “Here is some- 
thing to cure your troubles.” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


109 


‘ ‘ Aunt Daffy knows where the chronic weakness 
of his sex lies— in his stomach,” said Fly, as Zed, 
drying his tears, smilingly trotted out of the room, 
the panacea for his ‘‘yearning” in his little brown 
hands. 

“They never outgrow it.” 


CHAPTER X. 


THE BIG FARM. 

The MalLoneys had owned it for three generations, 
and in the lapse of time it had become the very gar- 
den spot of the agricultural county. It stretched 
away to westward until its broad fields dipped to 
the river’ s brink, and to the east where the turnpike 
cut it oh from its neighbors. A rugged mountain 
range made background for its pastoral beauty, and 
a fertile valley of well-tilled farms and silvery 
streams, spreM out for miles before it. 

Many a covetous eye looked upon the Big Farm, 
and many an aspiring maiden and designing mamma 
did the like for Edward Mahoney, the manly and 
handsome young owner thereof. 

The mansion (for it was a building of considerable 
pretension, with its high, white-pillared piazza, and 
generous proportions), stood upon a broad terrace, 
at this time ablaze with the early autumn blossoms, 
and up to its doors curved graveled walks and 
drives that led away to barns and outhouses, giving 
evidence of hearty hospitality and true country 
living. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


Ill 


Just now there was lack of sound and motion 
about the place. In the sunshine a stray turkey 
strutted and scratched in the garden beds, and a 
gorgeous-tailed peacock, flaunting himself on the 
edge of a dry fountain basin, gave vent to an occa- 
sional unmusical cry of vanity ; but the front of the 
mansion was closed, and no sign of inhabitant was 
visible. 

Whist, ye pagan paycock ! Wud ye be afther 
lookin’ me out ov countenance wid all thim eyes in 
yer tail V ’ It was the little Irishman, Mickey, ex- 
postulating with the swelling bird, as he suddenly 
appeared upon the scene. ^‘Cornin’ forninst me 
wid the manners ov a fay male, begorra ! The mas- 
ther ’ll have a foine time wid yer ugly voice an’ yer 
furrin airs. Thim fay thers ! Maybe it’s Miss Fol- 
let wud be loikin’ wan ov thim,” continued Mickey, 
gazing with speculation in his eyes after the retreat- 
ing bird. 

Whatever nefarious purpose was in process of 
development in the Irishman’ s brain, it was nipped 
in the bud by the driving up the circular road of a 
light wagon containing two occupants. Mickey 
shaded his eyes with his hands and then dropped 
them^ whistling expressively. 

“An’ bod luck till it! It’s Misther Edward’s 


112 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


f rind, the Professor. Mick, me bh’ y, there’ s three 
ov thim already, an’ only four ov thiin gnrrels. 
It’s aisy to apprehind thot heaven’s agin poor me !” 

Blit, notwithstanding his regretful and mysterious 
expressions of foreboding, he hastened forward to 
o:ffer the new comer a hearty and characteristic 
welcome, and, whispering an Irish word into the 
driver’ s ear, sent him off with his vehicle before the 
passenger to the Big Farm had time to attend to his 
accountabilities. 

An’ shure it’s not in the Mahoney’s place we’d 
be takin’ ony thing from onybody,” returned 
Mickey, as the stranger expostulated. ‘^Pathrick, 
the driver, wud ate himsilf first, sur. It’s the 
latch string widout from the days ov ould Michael 
Mahoney himsilf, Grod kape him ! . Bivil a cint at 
all, at all !” 

^AYhere is Mr. Edward Mahoney f’ inquired the 
amused gentleman. am the Professor.” 

‘ ' Are ye, indade, Misther Profissor ? Thin Misther 
Edward’s lookin’ fur ye,” responded Mickey, open- 
ing wide the great hall door and bowing respectfully. 
''Will ye walk in till the masther’s room, an’ I’ll 
be lookin’ afther him mesilf,” and he led the new 
comer into a large apartment, handsomely furnished, 
that was half library, half bachelor’s sanctum. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


113 


^‘He’s over at the ould house wid four young 
women, Misther Profissor, an’ the divil knows fwhat 
throuble the loikes ov thim may bring on him,” ex- 
plained Mickey, crooking his thumb significantly in 
the direction of the Yilla Bohemia. “I’ll go wid 
haste now, sur.” 

“Before you go will you be so kind as to — I did 
not catch your name exactly.” 

“I’m Mickey, sur.” 

‘ ^ W ell, Mickey, ’ ’ continued the Professor, ‘ ‘ could 
you accommodate me with a pipe and some tobacco ? 
It will save unpacking my portmanteau just now. 
Mr. Mahoney hasn’t given over smoking to please 
these aforesaid young damsels, has he?” 

“ Tobaccy, is it, sur ?” replied the Irishman, warm- 
ing toward the stranger, and beginning to ransack 
his master’s apartment. “Begorra! it’s the bist 
brand in the wurruld we kape, an’ plinty ov the 
same, Misther Profissor,” and he made liberal pro- 
vision for the Professor’ s needs. ‘ ‘ But thim young 
women, if ye’ll take notice, sur — divil knows fwhat 
they moight be accomj)lishin’ . There isn’ t the loike 
of thim, sur, an’ it’ s safer, I apprehind, fur Misther 
Edward to be kapin’ house over here wid yersilf, if 
ye’ d shpake till him . ” 

“ Where do you live, Mickey ?” ^ 

8 


114 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


‘‘ I ? An’ it’ s mesilf, Misther Profissor ? lie ! lie ! 
I live where me hist judgmint directs, snr, shure. 
He! he! IVe slept betimes — he I he! — an’ the 
divil take me fur it ! he ! he ! — in the gist chamber 
oftheould house. An’ it’s not oncet in a month 
the women folks goes in till it, sur ; an’ it’s quite 
nate an’ foine, an’ — ” 

‘‘Why, Mick, if they catch you at it, they’ll sew 
you up in a sack !” laughed the Professor. 

“An’, an’ — ^it’s a sacret, now, sur — they’re after 
belavin’ I’m a ghost. He ! he ! I’ve appear edy 
“ Appeared, Mick ? In what horrible and blood- 
curdling device, may I ask ?’’ 

“In me night-shirt, an’ shame till me,” replied 
Mickey, his face expanding with a broad grin, while 
he endeavored vainly to assume a contrite expres- 
sion. ‘ ‘ Miss Dimple, the darlint, despied me, one 
avenin’, coolin’ mesilf in the windy, an’ niver oncet 
sence afther dark have they set fut in till it.” 

“You are certainly the bravest man, Mickey, I 
ever met. I fear, however, your bravery is degen- 
erating into recklessness. The consequences of dis- 
covery by these dangerous and flinty-hearted fe- 
males would be terrible. Beware! By the way, 
just go for Mahoney, will you 
Thus jy:rived and was welcomed the Professor, 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


115 


Edward Mahoney’ s best friend and general adviser ; 
and in due time, owing to Mickey’ s usual alacrity 
in traveling toward the old house, the two were 
together, in the library at the Big Farm, living over 
the past, enjoying the present, and planning for the 
future. 

•‘‘Fortune has certainly favored you, Ned, my 
boy. What have you ever done to inherit life’s 
‘flesh-pots’ without the usual struggle. I’d be 
pleased to know V ’ The Professor had just settled 
himself down for a philosophic smoke after a stroll 
over the fine mansion. 

“I can’t complain,” responded the Mahoney; 
“I have very nearly all I want, except a wife — 
which I intend to get.” 

“ Which of the four is it, Ned?” 

“Follet.” 

“Think well, my dear fellow. Take plenty of 
time for consideration. Men’ s minds are but veer^ 
ing and unstable — ” 

‘ ‘ Stop right there, Leon, please, and don’ t begin 
to remind me of former — follies,” interrupted Mar 
honey. •“! am struck to death this time. The 
Irishman is subdued within me, and I am prepared 
to be more loyal and devoted than-^^you are to your 
ideal I” 


116 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


“ I wisli you luck and all happiness, I am sure,” 
responded his friend, heartily. ‘‘And since I have 
come down to see you well through, what is your 
programme V ’ 

“Programme! That is precisely what I expect 
you to arrange for me. In such an emergency as 
this, a cool head is everything. You see, old fellow, 
these absurd girls are vowed to at least live years of 
seclusion, study, and single-blessedness. Each has 
her individual hobby (a hobby, I find, is a man’ s 
most formidable rival), and you may be sure not 
one of the four will willingly yield another up. If 
in some way I could manage to get Follet with- 
drawn from the influence of the rest, I feel I could 
in time make the desired impression ; but those two 
girls. Fly and Carol, are inflexible. Born old maids, 
I’ll swear, pretty as they are 1” 

“Don’t allow ^^ourself to become excited or prej- 
udiced, Edward. How about the aunt 

“ Her authority amounts to nothing with the girls. 
The fact is, between sleeping, reading light litera- 
ture, and being petted into a helpless state by these 
witche^, the old lady might as well be an.automa- 
ton. She likes me, I flatter myself ; and, as Follet’ s 
aunt and sole guardian on this side of the hemi- 
sphere, would never seriously oppose my suit.” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


117 


“That is an important point gained,” said the 
Professor, reflectively. “What does Miss Follet 
say for herself 

“/Sh?/, iny dear fellow ! I tell yon the girls are 
vowed to dead silence toward ns. Whenever a 
man approaches they resolve themselves into an 
army of mntes. Follet does not dare to open her 
sweet lips. The conversation we have carried on 
in dnmb eloquence of eye-langnage is unparalleled. 
Bnt,” continned the yonng man, sighing, “it can- 
not last forever, this state of things. Follet is as 
shy as a fawn. The other day I really thonght my 
opportnnity had offered. Little Zed — ” 

“Is there a child 

“ Yes, a nephew of Fly’s ; as canning a little ras- 
cal as ever cheated his mother.” 

“And so,” said the Professor, wonderingly, “it 
never once occnrred to yon, Ned, that this same 
small boy might be made the instrnment of snccess 
in yonr love-chase ? Cnltivate him, by all means. 
Spare no lollipops, and take him Ashing with yon. 
I have a prophetic vision of Follet grown to wisdom 
throngh a plot wherein this infant of versatile ways 
may flgnre. Cnltivate him, Edward, and do it as- 
tntely. Children have the keen scent of a weasel.” 

“By George I I seem to see a way ! Leon, bless 


118 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


you!” cried Mahoney, springing from his chair to 
shake his friend by the hand, and really evincing, 
by the quick flush upon his brow and the tri- 
umphant smile about his lips, how deeply and sin- 
cerely his Irish heart was touched by the fair 
Follet. “If it can be accomplished, I am your 
happy debtor forever!” 

“Keep cool, ISTed, keep cool,” returned his im- 
perturbable friend. “It takes time for the grand 
coups WUat of life. Have I learned nothing from 
my championship in chess'^ I’ll take a nap, an’ 
please you, my boy, after my journey, and awake 
with my giant intellect refreshed for the fray. 
That is, Mahoney — if you are really — ^in love — this 
time.” 

“ I swear— ” 

“Gro, swear to the inconstant moon, per agree- 
ment with the poets, or to your lady-love, one and 
the same thing, I am sure,” and the Professor gave 
vent to a signiflcant yawn. 

“Cynic!” cried Edward, looking back from the 
doorway with a glowing face. ‘ ^ If your pride don’ t 
have a fall — into love, I am no lover !” 

“Ta! Ta!” responded the Professor, sleepily, 
from the sofa cushions. “ I know ’em all !” 


CHAPTER XI. 

CROQUET AIN’D COOKIES. 

“Ye shwate whistlin’ burreds in the bushes, 

Ye nate little robins an’ thrushes, 

’Tis the heart o’ me fills 
Wid yer shakes an’ yer trills. 

An’ grows loight wid yer jh’y an’ yer gushes ! 

‘ ‘ Misther Edward thinks he’ s the poet. An’ he 
can’ t bate thot, bod luck till the matin’ ov 
wurreds.” 

Mickey was eii route to the old house, by way of 
the lane, to deliver a note transferred to his care by 
the servant of Mrs. Moore, of Haughton Heights, 
and was beguiling the way with improvisations that • 
did justice to his Irish love of rhyme and sentiment. 

“ An’ the wurruld is a gim altogither. 

In sunshine or worstest or weather; 

An’ I’m moindin’ the giirrels 
Wid their eyes an’ their currels — ” 

Oh, Mick ! Oh, Mick ! I’ve really caught you 
at it this time. Miss Pollet told me you were a 
poet, but I would not have believed it of you I” ex- 


120 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


claimed Carol, who suddenly came upon the little 
Irishman from around a corner of the high hedge. 

‘^An’ is it yer purty silf, Miss? Shure, I was 
jist hastin’ afther yez. I’ve got a letther. Whirra ! 
Is it lost, I am ? Bod luck to thim varses ! Where 
the divil is it ony how V ’ and Mickey searched up 
and down the weedy path with an aggrieved air. 
‘‘Och, here it is thin. Miss!” picking up the lost 
article from under a mullein stalk. It’s a letther 
fur the villa. Miss Carol.” 

‘‘A letter!” cried the girl, clasping her hands 
over the envelope and rolling skyward a pair of 
wickedly rebuking eyes. ‘‘Who dareth to invade 
our seclusion with the wanton world’s affairs ? Art 
thou thyself, Mickey?” 

“ It’s not a — male letther. Miss,” returned Mickey, 
in a tone of assumed contrition. “It’s direct from 
the foine# mistress ov the Heights, and the bh’y’s 
waitin’ f ominst the warnin’ in the lane. I wudn’ t 
let him shtep his dirty fut over the shtile, Miss.” 

“Is there an answer, Mickey?” and Carol lin- 
gered curiously over the monogrammed and violet 
sealed envelope. 

“ Who’d be knowin’ that, Miss, betther than ver- 
siK ?” 

“Run after the boy, Mick, and tell him to wait. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


121 


He can sit on the stile, so that he doesn’t swing his 
masculine boots over our side.” Thereupon Carol 
repaired to the villa with the letter, daintily laying 
at intervals its perfumed, satiny folds against her 
little nose. 

-VV * . * 

“Gro, Dimple? Are you beside yourself?” said 
Fly, in high dudgeon. ‘ ‘ Most decidedly we shall 
not think of going. Carol, you will please write a 
note immediately to Mrs. Moore declining her invi- 
tation, and apprising her of our purpose in coming 
to the Villa Bohemia ; and be sure to impress upon 
her mind the inviolability of our vow as to seclusion. 
The idea of going, Dimple !” 

‘‘And besides,” added Follet, her eyes turning 
mournfully upon vacancy — in the wardrobe, ‘ ‘ we 
have nothing in the world to wear.” 

“Where is your blue checked silk?” inquired 
Carol. “ I have known the time, not so far distant, 
when that was considered quite line enough to be 
worn anywhere.” 

“Why, Carol,” replied Follet, her eyes opening 
still wider, and the “purpose” of the villa appar- 
ently entirely ignored, “ you know well that Fly 
w'ore it as Juliet, and you fell over her with the 
kerosene lamp trying to make a moon !” 


122 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


‘‘You are mistaken, my child, as usual. The 
umbrellas we had for Romeo’s legs slipped down 
and knocked over the moon.” 

“ Young women,” expostulated Fly, rebukingly, 
“a fig for dress! It ruined Eve’s happiness, I do 
not doubt, and has brought no end of trouble into 
the world.” 

“ Yeth,” lisped Dimple, “ plaiting, French fold th, 
and — ” 

“Enough 1” cried Fly, in dull despair. “ Let us 
return to the original subject for discussion, which 
was the very uncalled for ‘ bid ’ to tea and croquet.” 

“ Oo — oh!” murmured in wistful chorus the 
other three Bohemiennes. 

“At the mansion of Mrs. Moore,” continued Fly. 

“Bless me!” suddenly ejaculated FoHet, who 
had been closely surveying and sniffing at the ele- 
gant note of invitation. “ Here is Zed included ; in 
a P. S.. too. A good place in which to put the 
naughty little thing. • He is always at the bottom of 
everything.” 

“ What in the name of sense anybody wants with 
him ‘passeth all understanding,’ ” said Carol, a bit 
sulkily. “We don’t care to be bothered with him 
if we do go.” 

“ Z>o go?” returned Fly, “ cZo go? Whoever 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


123 


dreams of such a thing ? Carol, please write that 
note to Mrs. Moore.” 

‘‘ Now, Fly, listen !” and Carol seated herself on 
the table, wherefrom she could best survey her 
audience and judge of the impression made. “This 
matter, in my humble opinion, is to be considered a 
bit cautiously. Just because we girls are here, 
vowed to certain obligations and duties, is no reason 
why we should trample under foot all the emotions 
as well as amenities of life, is it 

Chorus from the other three Bohemiennes : “ Oh, 
No!” 

“Yery well, then. Mrs. Moore’s only son risks 
his life to save that of our only nephew. She re- 
quests the pleasure of our society ; a simple desire 
enough, dear knows 1 Probably the poor thing is 
bored to death in that great, lonesome place.” 

Chorus of three : “ Poor thing 1” 

“How can we, I ask, ignore her wishes in this 
matter, and appear even decently grateful for pre- 
cious Zeddie’s preservation from a watery grave ?” 

Chorus : ‘ ‘ How can we V ’ 

“Now, Fly,” continued the ingenious Carol, 
strengthening with the united support of her listen- 
ers, “considering all sides of the question, we might 
break through our rules and go just this once.” 


124 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


Chorus : ‘‘ Just this once !” 

“ A woman’s way,” said Fly, with lofty sarcasm. 
‘‘Well, the majority, I admit, is plainly against 
me. I love my nephew ; ‘ with all his faults I 
love him still !’ I feel my soul expanding vdth 
gratitude toward that young — young — person, 
who — ” 

“ 'Never mind him ! What shall we wear cried 
Follet with charming alacrity. 

“An’ sure it’s the bh’y thot’s coolin’ his heels 
forninst the shtile, Miss Fly,” warned Mickey at 
the open window. 

“ Is he tired, Mick ?” 

“ I belave he isn’t, Miss. He’s ashlape.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


AT THE MANSION. 

“Oh, my! Grirls, isnH tMs too lovely?” was 
Follet' s admiring exclamation, as tlie four girls, with 
Zed closely following, found themselves in a sump- 
tuous guest chamber of the Moore mansion. 

“What a delightfully long mirror! Fly, this 
silk of mine is ridiculous ; just see how short it is 
in the waist. G-ymnastics have elongated me some- 
how,” and Carol, with a rueful face, tiptoed before 
the glass and surveyed critically her blue and white 
gown. 

“ I shall have an extra ruffle added to this anti- ' 
quated garment of mine,” said Fly, stepping in in- 
formally before Carol’s inspecting eyes. “Hook 
simply — a guy !” 

“You are the very one who advithed uth to bring 
down all our latht yearth dretheth,” suggested 
Dimple. The child looked like a pink-cheeked 
cherub in her fresh barred muslin and rose- colored 
sash. 

“Dimple,” corrected Follet, who was, quite satis- 


126 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


fied with her own appearance, ‘‘ don’t remind poor 
Fly of her youthful indiscretion. We must all 
learn, through bitter experience, of our short- 
comings, even if they do visit us in the shape of 
outgrown bodices and — ’ ’ 

Crash ! Smash ! Smash ! 

“My gracious goodness ! Zed, you horrid boy, 
what have you done now 

“Boo-hoo! Boo-hoo-hoo-oo ! I didn’t mean 
to.” 

“Didn’t mean to!” echoed the horrified Fly. * 
“Break a set of priceless china and then ‘didn’t 
mean to 1’ I have a good mind to punish you, sir, 
now and here.” 

“I’ll yell,” warned Zed, as he surveyed the wreck 
of matter philosophically. “I’ll yell. I’ll take 
’ the roof off.” 

“For mercy’s sake, don’t touch him. Fly I” im- 
plored Carol, who was down on her knees en- 
deavoring to sop up a fiood of water with her 
cambric pocket handkerchief, while Follet rolled 
hysterically about in a fit of ill-timed mirth. 

“ Laugh, Follet, laugh on,” and Fly turned upon 
the .wriggling girl vdth withering scorn. “You 
would giggle at your grandfather’ s funeral . I never 
saw such levity !” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


127 


“ OlL-he-he ! Ah-tee-hee-hee !” gulped poor Fol- 
let, vainly struggling to assume a slight degree of 
gravity. can’t — can’t really help it. I always 

laugh — tee-hee — when I ought — tee-hee — to cry. I 
shall die !” 

Die, then, and be done with it !” snapped Carol, 
miserably wet and disheveled. Try in some way 
to be quiet. I hear a footstep. Zed, you unfortu- 
nate boy, get up quick ! All soaked through ! 
Climb up in the window-seat and sit in the sun ; 
and don’ t pull the lace curtains that way. Oh, dear, 
if we had only left him with Aunt Daffy.” 

“Mrs. Moore’s compliments, and will the young 
ladies be pleased to join her on the lawn ?” said the 
maid’ s well- trained voice at the open door. 

‘ ‘ Did that servant see the wreck V ’ asked Carol, 
who was nervously hiding the broken pitcher with 
her dress skirt. 

FoUet coolly twisted her curls about her white 
forehead : 

“Carol,” said she, “you will be suggesting pres- 
ently that we dispose of those fragments about our 
persons. Mrs. Moore is wealthy enough to replace 
the provoking old pitcher, ‘isn’t she?” 

“ One would think Follet was born with a gold 
spoon in her mouth.” 


128 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


“ I’m glad you didn’t say plate,” giggled the ir- 
repressible FoUet. 

‘‘Girls,” warned Fly, “do not talk so loud. 
You are not in the airy villa. Where is the hair- 
brush, pray ? Keep it aU day, Follet ; nobody 
hopes to be presentable beside you. Where is 
Dimple ?” 

“ I haven’t seen her for a quarter of an hour. I 
think she lied when Zed cried ; she is such a tender- 
hearted little creature,” responded parol. 

“She’s went down the garden with a man. I 
seen her,” said Zed, who was perched upon the 
sunny window seat. ‘ ‘ He holded her hand, he did. ’ ’ 

“ Dimple is not to be trusted. Girls, we had bet- 
ter go immediately down,” and Fly prepared to de- 
part. 

“ I won’t stay still here no w, I won’t !” threatened 
Zed. 

“Stay, and get nice and dry, that’s a good child,” 
coaxed his aunt. “ What on earth shall we do 
with the little nuisance, girls ? I dare not leave 
him alone, and I must look up Dimple, and there 
is Mrs. Moore waiting. What will she think V ’ 

“I will stay with him,” said Carol, in the tone of 
an uneasy martyr. “Just explain to our hostess 
that he has drowned himself again. I truly believe 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


129 


that he is born for some diabolical end, the horrid 
boy !” 

, “•Maybe,” whispered Foiled, looking back con- 
solingly, “ he will drop off to sleep.” 

‘‘You better believe I won’t,” responded the 
small tyrant. “I don’t come to parties to go to 
sleep.” 

“Never!” exclaimed Carol. “He is good for a 
solid hour of watching. But, girls, do not allow 
my confinement from the ‘joys that be,’ to make 
unhappy victims of you all. I will be sure to 
amuse myself and be down for croquet and cookies. 
Zed will be dry by that time,” and Carol, left with 
her wide-awake charge, began a reconnoissance 
about the apartment preparatory to self-entertain- 
ment. 


CHAPTER XIIL 


AT HOME. 

The scene is now retransferred to tlie Yilla Bo- 
hemia. Time, ten o’ clock, and the Bohemiennes are 
gathered together in a common bed chamber. A 
wood fire crackles npon the hearth ; two candles 
sputter and flicker upon the dressing table, and a 
heterogeneous mass of wearing apparel is recklessly 
strewn over floor and furniture. 

“ Is that young wretch asleep f’ 

‘‘He is, thank goodness!” ejaculated the weary 
and disgusted Carol, her arms stretched above her 
disheveled head as she reclined against the upright 
bolster. “ I have been endeavoring to sum up the 
losses accruing from this most desperate undertak- 
ing of ours, and they are about this : One set of 
smashed china— price unknown, but supposed to be 
fabulous ; one suit of expensive new clothes ruined 
(Frances will be desperate !) ; one shoe lost irre- 
trievably, anywhere between this place and the 
unlucky Heights ; Mrs. Moore’ s favorite tabby, 
‘done to death’ in the fountain basin, and four — ” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


131 


‘‘Enumerate no further, ‘an’ you love me!’” 
cried Fly. ‘ ‘ I wish his mother had him ! My pro- 
phetic soul assures me that he is born to be the evil 
genius of our united destinies. I shall send him 
home, Aunt Daffodil to the contrary notwithstand- 
ing.” 

“Oh, Fly, how can you? We should miss the 
little darling so I” 

“ Of course. Just what might be expected. Pro- 
test, every one of you. Very well, the cherub 
remains at the villa, but don’t blame me, girls, 
when he breaks up housekeeping.” 

“ Wathn’t it fun ?” lisped Dimple, her eyes, with- 
out a particle of sleep in them, twinkling over the 
bedclothes. “ Mithter Moore thed — ” 

“Yes, young woman,” interrupted Fly, sternly, 
“ that is precisely what we desire to know — what 
Mr. Moore said. And just here let me add, as pres- 
identess of this association, that I deem it incumbent 
upon each member to tell ‘the truth, the whole 
truth, and nothing but the truth’ concerning her 
share in the festivity and frivolity of this innovat- 
ing affair. I disapproved, as you all know, of it 
from the first ; I was voted down, and now I have a 
right to demand — ” 

“Tell our experience you mean, you sly thing?” 


132 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


disrespectfully inquired Carol. “There never was 
such a law in our code !” 

“No, Miss, nor any such affairs as croquet par- 
ties. But, if I retain any influence over the associa- 
tion, I renew my demand for a ‘ clean breast ’ of the 
late proceedings from each one of you. In this way 
alone can we be assured of our original principle 
and purpose in being here. Therefore, I will 
commence myself and give a full and free revela- 
tion.” 

“ Tell everything we thed and did asked Dim- 
ple, her rosebud mouth dolefully round. 

“Everything,” demanded the unrelenting Fly, 
who forthwith began her confession : 

“ Awfully formal half-hour with Mrs. Moore on 
the lawn ; two games of croquet with same supple- 
mented by Follet who can’t play. Too lazy, not to 
put too fine a point. Supper, delicious, and done 
ample justice to. A bit ashamed of Dimple, who 
took four biscuits. Half hour’ s conversation .with 
Mrs. Moore. Additional game of croquet and wet 
feet. One hour’ s discipline of Zed on account of 
the murdered cat. More Moore, and fifteen minutes 
and a cup of tea with the late masculine arrival 
given to cigars and sarcasm.” 

“Fly,” admonished Carol, “you were certainly 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


133 


with him a half hour. I saw you light his cigar, 
too !” 

‘‘Oh, I have no doubt I was under especial 
espionage.^’’ 

“Have you finished your confession, Fly?” in- 
terrupted Follet, more interested in experiences 
than in “spats.” 

“Very nearly. A bumping ride home. Zed’s 
tumble over the wheel, and a headache. There, 
now, I have finished. My part in this affair cannot 
go far, you must allow, to react dangerously upon 
our original purpose.” 

“Well, Carol, Fly wasn’t very interesting; now 
it is your turn,” said Follet, delightedly. “Pro- 
ceed.” 

“There is nothing to compel me to,” returned 
Carol, looldng around with a belligerent air. 

“Oh, she’s done something delightfully awful to 
take it so hard!” giggled the provoking Follet. 
“Say, Carol, was it that Professor?” 

“ Pooh 1 Nonsense, every one of you !” cried the 
investigated young woman given to daring. “Who 
is afraid ? Every girl has her experience.” 

“Yes,” replied Fly, with dampening solemnity, 
“ but we are pledged to have none with the other 
sex.” 


134 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


“ Really, you can’t dignify anything I have done 
since I came to the Yilla Bohemia with the term 
‘experience,’ ” returned Carol, a trifle shamefacedly. 
“ I did meet the stranger while you were all down 
on the lawn waiting for tea. Zed got dry and went 
to sleep. I strolled about the house a bit, and 
finally found myself in a large room. Oh, girls, it 
was a regular bachelor’ s ‘sanctum sanctorum,’ all 
guns, fishing tackle, slippers, inkstands, books, pic- 
tures of — ” 

“It mutht have been Mithter Moorthe !” cried 
Dimple in delight. 

“Of course it was, but well you know. Miss, that 
he was not in it !” retorted Carol, continuing her 
narration. “I was trying a big swing chair, with 
an awful odor of tobacco in it, when, suddenly, I 
heard boots, and, before I could get out, that — that 
new Professor was in there, and I did not know 
what to do next.” 

“You excused yourself, of course, and retired 
without another word,” said Fly. 

“Yo, I did not; we talked,” explained Carol, 
with a gay defiance in her voice, as she twisted her 
curls by way of getting rid of superfluous embar- 
rassment. “We compared notes concerning people 
and — and lots of things.” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


135 


‘‘Your solemn resolutions as to his tabooed sex 
were thrown to the four winds then, Miss 

“Fly,” corrected Follet, “it was decided, you 
must remember, that we were to accept and bestow 
‘ for this night only ’ the amenities of social inter- 
course without regard to sex. You are always 
preaching fairness and consistency in woman.” 

“Ahem!” coughed the rebuked Fly. “That, 
then, Carol, was where you were when Zed made 
his unfortunate escape. It was just about that 
time he discovered the cat.” 

“I was not there, really. Fly, so very long. I 
declare I was not. We had not an opportunity to 
say much. He smoked, and I coughed, then he 
talked, and I laughed a good deal ; and then he 
§aid, ‘ Women had more breeding than brains,’ and 
I said — ” 

“It strikes me, Carol, you must have got on 
famously by that time. A most charming and con- 
ventional meeting!” said Fly sharply. “You did 
not appear so very well acquainted with each other’s 
weaknesses before me, I notice.” 

“Because, Miss Fly, for all your severe resolves, 
it was only too evident that you were a trifle inter- 
ested in the Professor yourself,” retorted the badg- 
ered Carol. 


136 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


“Girls,” reminded Follet sleepily, “hadn’t we 
better dispense with the rest of our experiences, 
say our prayers, and go to sleep ? It is getting late, 
and I can’t think of a thing I did, except eat a good 
deal, lose every game at croquet, and catch Dimple 
down in the dell with young Moore.” 

“ What if you did f ’ cried Dimple, “ I wath only 
matching pennith with Artie — I mean Mithter 
Moore. Onthe I thought he wath going to kith 
me.” 

“Kiss you. Dimple!” exclaimed the other Bo- 
hemiennes in horrified chorus. 

“Of courth I wathn’t going to let him,” con- 
tinued Dimple calmly. “ He athked me if I liked a 
muthtath, and I thed ‘yeth,’ and then he thed 
‘dear Dimple.’ And jutht then that Profethor 
came through the thrubbery and gave him a note. 
And they went away for a little while, and Artie — 
I mean Mithter Moore — came back laughing and 
rubbing hith handth and thed ; ‘ It ith too rich ! It 
ith too rich T ” 

“Hude boy!” exclaimed Fly ; “I dare say that 
big-headed Professor was talking of us. He hates 
women, I know it.” 

“Auntie, oh. Auntie! 0-o-ooh ! I’ve got an 
awful stommy-cake !” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


137 


It was Zed. 

“Girls,” said Fly, looking up the peppermint 
bottle, while her little teeth chattered and bare feet 
turned pink with the cold, “another evil conse- 
quence of croquet and cookies !” 


CHAPTER XIY. 


THEEE OF A KINO. 

Fishing rods, tackle, a well-filled hamper and a 
flask. 

The October sun shimmered through the half leaf- 
less tree boughs, and lit up the picturesque margin 
of a glinting, gliding stream that, born in the 
mountain, bubbled through the valley, cold, clear, 
and alive with trout. 

Where were the fishermen ? 

•H* ^ ^ « 

‘‘Who says a woman can’t make a fire?” cried 
the exultant Carol, as little yellow tongues of flame 
curled up and darted in and out about a pyramid 
of brushwood that she had carefully erected. 
“Crooked sticks do the business. Men are too 
methodical as a rule ; they want everything on the 
square.” 

“Well — they — don’t — always — get it,” returned 
Fly, who was breathlessly tugging at a fallen limb 
of the walnut grove wherein the girls were celebrat- 
ing FoUet’s October birthday. “We get ’round 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


139 


them usually. Plague take this bough ! Girls, it 
is muscular development we need. I declare we 
must go on with a more thorough gymnastic train- 
ing.” 

Crackle ! Crack ! Smash ! The sound was fol- 
lowed by a feminine shriek of terrified astonish- 
ment. 

‘‘That is FoUet,” said Carol, coolly returning to 
her occupation of arranging a pine knot artistically 
on the blaze. “Up a tree.” 

“Down a tree, I should say,” suggested Fly, 
picking a sliver from her slender finger. “ Follet is 
clumsy and will hurt herself some day. She is for- 
ever essaying such feats. Blondes, as a rule, are 
not active. Brunettes can afliord to be supple and 
slim. I should hate to be fat !” 

“I am “alf and ’alf.’ I can wear any style, shape 
or color.” 

“Carol, women think altogether too seriously of 
such trifies. Now a man — 

“ Against the rules. Miss, to mention the creature ! 
Don’t quote him to me !” Carol had scorched her 
fingers and thrust them into her mouth. “But, so 
long as you have mentioned him, let me say that a 
brunette man would, as like as not, hang himself 
with a pair of sky-blue suspenders and never once 


140 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


take into consideration the horrible effect. A man ! 
Why, he knows no more abont shades of color than 
a — a cow. Did yon notice, Fly, that Professor, at 
Mrs. Moore’ s, with the crispiest, darkest curls and 
a pale green necktie ? He looked precisely as 
though he had newly sprouted under his chin.” 

“There’s no accounting for the crudeness of the 
sex, I allow. It will take ages to develop a man.” 

“ Follet, jutht lithten 1 They are talking about — 
a man !” It was Dimple, coming out from a thicket 
of undergrowth, followed by Follet with her head 
tied up. 

“I could eat one about now,” responded the vo- 
racious Follet savagely. feel like a Feejee Isl- 
ander ! Fly, I hope you have boiled the eggs.” 

“Carol is cook to-day.” 

“Horrible!” ejaculated the disgusted and raven- 
ous girl, sitting down on the edge of a projecting 
rock and glaring at the small assemblage with one 
unbandaged eye. “I wish to goodness I had cele- 
brated myself at home !” 

“From present appearances it might have been 
better. But women are born to trouble, Follet. 
Your star may have been in juxtaposition with the 
unfortunate planet — ” 

“ Follet wath after a birdth netht,” interrupted 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


141 


Dimple. “That ith why the came to grief, you 
thee.” 

“When is a thief not a thief?” queried Carol 
from out a column of smoke wherein she was sup- 
posed to be engaged in ‘cooking.’ “When he’s a 
robbin’. I never wait for my sex to answer conun- 
drums.” 

“Dimp, spread the tablecloth, will you, 
please?” requested Fly as she proceeded to unpack 
the huge picnic basket, making, at the same time, 
an inventory of its contents. “ Sandwiches — pickles 
— cake — pickles — biscuit — pickles — jelly — pick — . 
Ahem ! Who put up this basket ?” 

“We all helped,” said Dimple. 

“Of course, and each got in a pickle in so 
doing.” 

At length the overflowing hamper was emptied of 
its contents, and the tempting, homemade edibles 
spread for the rural repast. 

The afternoon sun played capriciously through 
a network of boughs, and limned, in light and 
shadow, the picture. Upon the grass was laid 
a crimson and white tablecloth, and on it were 
heaped rosy cheeked and gold tinted apples, flanked 
by piles of little biscuit as white and light as snow- 
flakes ; these were surrounded by ruby jellies, pats 


142 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


of yellow butter, amber cheese, a huge frosted 
cake, a pink and white ham set in graceful celery 
tops, two tall bottles of currant wine, and pickles, 
emerald pickles everywhere. 

At the head of the tablecloth (by virtue of a con- 
venient tree trunk) sat Fly, regnant, and smiling, 
her jet-black hair confined in a long braid at the 
back, and surmounted by a scarlet cap twisted fan- 
tastically out of a neckerchief and decorated with 
a jaunty plume made of feathery fern leaves. Red 
were her brunette cheeks, sparkling her eyes, and 
white her teeth between the most laughing and 
tempting of lips. 

‘‘Young women!” she cried, tossing up, with 
tragic gesture, a glass of the native vintage, ‘ ‘ here’ s 
success to our sex, and consternation to the other ! 
Drink standing.” 

Up rose Follet, a bit languidly, her divine eyes, 
cerulean in depth, turned skyward in a state of 
beatitude, her sweet mouth shaped to the most 
ecstatic of O’s, as she clasped in her small hands 
her glass, and raised it high in the October sun- 
light. 

Up sprang Carol on a tree stump, her waves of 
chestnut hair crowned with a trailing wreath of 
bronze oak leaves, her little figure outlined, with its 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


143 


np-tossed arms, a very riante^ dancing Dryad 
against the background of blue sky. 

And up stood Dimple, in a flood of sunbeams, 
flushed, dimpled, roseate — a Hebe of health and 
happiness — tiny hands holding hard to her wine- 
cup, mischief and innocence contending for mastery 
in her cherub countenance. 

‘‘ Death to despots ! Dominion to dames !” shout- 
ed Carol. 

‘‘Follet, announce your sentiments,” demanded 
Fly. 

Here’s to the Yilla Bohemia !” responded Fol- 
let, burying her nose and hiding her eyes in the 
brimming glass. 

‘‘May women ever reign there!” supplemented 
Fly, with a curiously suspicious glance at Follet. 
“ Drink deep, girls. Speak up. Dimple.” 

But before the exhorted Dimple could get her 
cherub mouth rounded for rebellion, there was a 
leap, a crash, and a commotion, and pickles, ham, 
wineglasses and girls were scattered in all direc- 
tions, and an enormous setter dog stood in the 
middle of the tablecloth, wagging his tail and his 
tongue, and winking out of very cunning and saga- 
cious eyes at the astonished picnickers. 

“ Go away. Sir I Don’t you come near me 1 Oh ! 


lU 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


oil!’’ ejaculated the girls, breathlessly, as they fled 
from their feast, leaving the animal lord of all he 
surveyed. You dreadful dog !” 

“Whistle to him, Carol, do,” implored Fly, try- 
ing to climb up a young hemlock. “ But oh, don’t 
coax him this way.” 

“The horrible beast! I believe, I am sure, he is 
mad ! Try him, Dimple ; he may not touch you,” 
urged FoUet, who was perched on the highest rock 
ledge near. 

“You are very dithinterethed, Follet,” returned 
Dimple, snuggling up beside Carol. “ I thall not go 
near him if I thleep here all night.” 

“What shall we, shall we do?” moaned Fly. 
“ Where did he come from ?” 

The vivacious animal suddenly performed a new 
leap or two, by way of testifying to his entire wil- 
lingness to do any one thing the girls might 
mutually settle upon, and thereupon there was a 
renewed rush and rustle, and they flew away like 
a covey of frightened wild birds and sought greater 
safety on a higher ledge of rock. At that instant a 
whistle, loud, shrill and masculine, broke from out 
the neighboring wood ; then a quick step was heard 
through *the undergrowth, and Laurence Lionel 
Level, in the picturesque shabbiness of a half -worn 


145 


# 


THj: VILLA BOHEMIA. 

liunter’s garb, trousers in boot-tops and belt about 
a shapely waist, stood before the Bohemiennes. He 
bowed low, his broad felt hat in his hand sweeping 
the ground in graceful assumption of dire hu- 
mility. 

‘ ‘ Ladies, I offer a most humble apology for the 
setter. Artemis is npt yet trained to habits of 
obedience.” 

A quick look of mutual understanding passed 
between the girls. There was a dropping of eight 
long-lashed eyelids, and sweeping of four prolonged 
and stately ‘‘courtesies” followed by a dead si- 
lence. 

“I trust the setter has not done irretrievable 
damage?” said the gentleman, still humbly. 

Fly turned slowly on her rock pedestal, like a 
rigid automaton figure in a scarlet cap, and pointed, 
with tragic finger, to the expressive debris of the 
interrupted feast. 

The gentleman cleared his throat in a significant 
manner, and evinced a trifling embarrassment. At 
the same moment four masculine eyes looked out 
upon the novel pantomime from an adjacent bush, 
and two moustached mouths compressed their lips in 
suppressed merriment. 

“ The dog, ladies, T have not much control over, 
10 


146 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


I allow ; lie is tlie property of Mr. Moore,” persisted 
Mr. Laurence Lionel Lovel. 

This speech was peculiarly prolific of dimples by 
Dimjile, petrifactions by Follet, shrugs by Fly, and 
most decided fidgets by the disgusted Carol. 

‘ ‘ Setters given to game ^re not to be relied upon 
at large.” 

Awful silence on the part of the indexible Bohemi- 
ennes, mufiled exclamations from the apologist, and 
convulsions of wicked masculine delight in the bush. 

‘ ‘ If you desire, and say the brute deserves it, I 
will brain him on the spot !” The despairing young 
man raised his gun savagely. 

The eyes and mouths of the dumb Bohemiennes 
opened wide in quick consternation and horror, 
and an array of pinky.-white beseeching palms 
were outspread toward the cruel hunter. 

“At least, then, young ladies, you will permit 
Artemis to retrieve as far as possible the mischief 
he has done. May he — pick u}) the pickles V ’ 

Dimple laughed audibly, and was admonished by 
a stern look of displeasure from the other mutes. 

“Artemis, go for that egg, sir! Hear me? Gro 
for it I” ordered Mr. Lovel, directing his confused 
attention to the dog. 

A wild scramble ensued among the picnic dishes, 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


147 


and many ludicrous and futile attempts were es- 
sayed by the leaping animal to capture the rolling 
eggs and pickles. Dimple renewed her irrepressible 
giggle, Follet fell into a convulsion of amusement, 
and Fly and Carol frowned deeply and darkly. The 
young masculine intruder stood grim and resolute, 
encouraging the struggling dog on to destruction 
and despair. 

A sudden terrified whisper from Carol reached 
the ears of the other girls : 

‘‘ He is eating the pound-cake. Oh, dear 

‘‘ ’Sh ! !N^ot a word. It cannot last forever.” 

‘‘Young ladies,” said Mr. Lovel, turning toward 
the indignant, chafing girls, “ do not let me detain 
you any longer from your picnic. Artemis shall 
stand sentinel a while by way of making amends for 
his miserable faux ]pas of a while ago. Come here, 
Sir! There, take that” (laying under the dog’s 
nose a handkerchief), “and watch ! Don’t you stir, 
Sir, until I whistle. Down, Sir ! Still ! Still ! And 
now, young ladies, I will bid you a very good after- 
noon, and hope the brute will not again interri\pt-r- 
your sentiments.” And with an humble sweep pf 
his hat, and a self-possessed smile up into Follet’ s 
blue eyes, the intruder was gone. 

A long soft sigh from Follet seemed to follow 


14:8 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


him regretfully, as she stepped down from the rock 
and looked wistfully in the direction of the wood. 
Dimple laughed wickedly. 

“ For a pauper — ” began Carol. 

‘‘Mr. Lovel is not a pauper!” retorted Follet, 
savagely. “ He earns his honest living on the Ma- 
honey farm, as you well know.” 

“ For a pauper,” persisted the incorrigible Carol, 
cross, and cramped in the ankle from standing so 
long in one position in a crevice of the rock, “ out 
at elbows, worn in the shirt bosom, and shabby in 
the shoes, he is the most conceited, self-satisfied, 
impudent person I ever met.” 

“ He didn’t get much satisfaction from our con- 
versation, did he f ’ laughed Fly, as she devoured a 
redeemed sandwich. 

“He thaw we did not care particularly for hith 
acquaintjanth,” lisped Dimple, blandly. 

“You are all a me — me — mean lot, that’s what 
you are 1 I wish— I wish I had nev — nev — never 
come near the hateful old Yilla Bohemia ! It is 
spoi — spoiling our dispositions, every girl of us 
and to the ainazement and consternation of the other 
Bohemiennes, Follet sat dov/n on the rock, buried 
her flushed face in her hands, and wept a passion- 
ate flood of tears. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


149 


Just at that instant a whistle, uncommonly near 
and clear, sounded, and Artemis, who had been 
chewing and moiling the handkerchief left to his 
care, seized it and bounded from the group of 
young women to disappear in the wood. 

“ Follet is tired out,” said Carol, gravely. ‘‘Let 
us gather up our cold remains and go home.” 

“ It will be our last picnic, this year,” added Fly. 
“And Aunt Daffy was perhaps right; all things 
considered, we are safer on our own premises.” 

^ ^ ^ ^ 

Three fishing rods palpitated above the trout 
stream. Three prone masculine figures ornamented 
the “sere and yellow” margin. The setter, Arte- 
mis, with nose to the spicy ground, reposed calmly 
after his forest adventure. 

“ I swear, ISTed — ” 

“’Sh! Lovel,” corrected the tall young fisher 
addressed. 

“ 1 was about to say that it beats anything I ever 
heard of. Four females pledged to utter silence 
toward my sex — I never would have believed it !” 

“ It may be a clever ruse,” suggested the brown- 
bearded Professor, playing his ‘ fiy ’ thoughtfully. 
“Women are ‘ warious and most peculiar,’ and not 
at all to be relied upon.” 


150 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


“Oh, no,” laughed Lovel, “it is honest. They 
have positively swor* not to speak one word to a 
man for five years, unless the four shall mutually 
agree so to do. Mickey — the rascal ! — was in at the 
last secret session, by way of the keyhole.” 

“Mr. Moore,” said the Professor, after a fisher- 
man’s silence of some moments, “are you playing 
the matrimonial game also VI 

Artie blushed, and in his agitation jerked up — his 
hook. 

“Well, my dear fellow, I must confess I don’t 
believe in a lone hand forever.” 

“A pair is not to be despised,” sighed the Pro- 
fessor. 

“But three of a kind is better,” said Laurence 
Lionel Lovel, with a sly little laugh. 

“Ahem !” coughed the Professor. 


CHAPTER XY. 


THAT TERRIBLE BOY. 

‘‘Put her feet in boiling mustard water, a plaster 
of the same on the small of her back, and give her 
a good, large dose of boneset. She can’t help get- 
ting well,” ordered Fly, in her roZe of medical ad- 
viser. “I believe in heroic treatment, and Follet 
needs it, if any one does ; she has been looking 
fearfully sallow for a week.” 

“ I feel better. Fly ; I do, indeed !” exclaimed the 
victimized Follet, in unmistakably healthy tones, 
from before the fire, where she was slowly par- 
boiling under wet blankets. “I am certain as I 
live that I have no cold on my lungs.” 

“ Xo one is certain of anything in this world of 
ours, my child,” returned theirrex)ressibleFly, as she 
beat up a strong dose of fresh mustard and vinegar 
with an air of exuberant satisfaction. “Anyway, 
a pound of preventive — is worth an ounce of cure.” 

“In this special case,” volunteered Carol, “I 
should say it was, if you expect to save your 
patient.” 


152 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


“What a bletMng that medithin ith tho expen- 
thive,” lisped Dimple, looking on at Fly’s ‘cure’ 
sympathetically. “El the Fly would have dothed 
me to death by thith time.” 

“Never you mind, Dimple. I have treated your 
several complaints not all unwisely,” retorted the 
busy Fly. “There is but one ill in your system 
that I do not seem able as yet to eradicate.” 

“Fly meanth my thleeplethneth !” 

“Mustard — would — help you, Dimple,” gasped 
Follet, “in the morning, applied fresh.” 

Fly was at that precise moment applying a large 
new plaster to poor Follet’ s delicate skin. Dimple’ s 
absurdity so upset her that she incautiously slapped 
the application, and the smarting victim howled 
dismally. 

“Don’t be a goose, Follet. It was Dimple’s 
fault ; she always upsets me, never taldng any- 
thing seriously in life! I mean. Dimple, by the 
‘ill’ I mentioned, sentimentality. Some women 
are imbued with the absurd weakness. It is 
chronic, and has to be heroically urged out of 
them.” 

“By huthbandth, do you mean?” Dimple was 
certainly progressing in ideas. “They are intended 
to take thentiment out of life, aren’t they? They 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


153 


get nth to marry them through that very weakneth 
though, don’t they 

Carol laughed long and loud. 

‘‘Dimple will have to be promoted; she is fast 
getting out of her pinafore and primer. I tell you, 
Fly, the villa is a sort of forcing house for the in- 
tellect.” 

“Dimple cannot remain in swaddling clothes 
forever,” returned Fly. 

“I don’t at all intend to,” said Miss Dimple, with 
energy. ‘ ‘ I with to be inithiated into all your 
thecreth.” 

“ Oh, Fly, that is too utterly awful ! Indeed, it 
burns frightfully !” moaned FoUet, as the mustard 
“ took hold.” “Girls, I tell you I am not sick. I 
am not.” 

“You know you are not well, Follet,” said Fly, 
calmly looking on at her victim’ s writhings, “and 
you are sure to feel a great deal better when it is all 
over.” 

“ She certainly is not well,” chimed in Carol, her 
wicked little mouth full of bread and Jam forbidden 
poor Follet, who was as hungry as a denied school- 
girl could be. “She complained of her back 
yesterday when we were hanging pictures ; she has 
been gradually losing her color and wits, has neg- 


154 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


lecfced her frizzes, and, I am sure, she had a 
frightful attack of- hysterics in the woods to-day. 
Follet, dear, there’s no pleasant way to glory ; you 
will have to be ‘mustard in’ as a ‘ raw recruit.’ 
Besides, the Villa Bohemia cannot risk losing its 
reputation for health.” 

The girls started to their feet, for a shrill scream 
of pain and anger was heard from without, followed 
by an anxious woman’s voice. Aunt Daffodil in 
descending the stairs had intercepted an unusual 
and nerve-exciting object. 

“For xnty’s sake !” exclaimed the girls. “It is 
Zed ! What has that terrible boy done now V ’ 

It was truly Zed. He was being rapidly borne 
into the presence of the Bohemiennes in the arms 
of the outraged Mickey, not quietly, but kicking, 
struggling, and screaming at the top of his small, 
shrill voice. 

“ Put a mustard over his mouth,” suggested the 
distracted Carol. 

“Oh, take mine, do pleaded Follet. 

“ Thtop thaking him thith minute!” demanded 
Dimple, dropping the kitten from an alarming 
height and rushing to the rescue of her little favor- 
ite. ‘ ‘ What hath he done, Mickey V ’ 

“Dimple ! How dare you address — a man 1” A 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


155 


trio of threatening voices reminded the girl that she 
was violating her vow of silence. 

“I forgot. I didn’t mean to thpeak to you, 
Mick—” 

“Dimple ! ” 

‘ ‘ Oh, dear, dear ! Theddie, darling, if you don’ t tell 
me thith moment what you did they’ll punith me !” 

“I didn’t mean to, Cousin Dimple, I didn’t. Boo- 
hoo-hoo !” 

“Of courthe you are all againtht him,” said 
Dimple, snuggling up to the little chap. 

“ Murther and blazes ! It’s mesilf must shpake. 
Miss Fly. It’s the divil’s own job, begorra ! See 
here. Miss — ” and Mickey, dropping the terrible 
boy in a writhing heap on the floor, disappeared 
into the hall to return with — 

“Cock-a-doodle-doo !” 

“ Saints save us !” piously ejaculated the amazed 
Irishman, as a long-legged rooster, released from 
his grasp, strutted up and down the room, flapping 
his ruffled wings and giving vent to exultant cries 
of freedom. “Saints save us!” crossing himself 
devoutly. “ It’ s not alive it is. It’ s a dead burrud, 
by Saint Patrick ! Masther Zed — bod luck till the 
bh’y ! — murthered it forninst me very eyes, or I’m a 
haythen mon I” 


156 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


“ Pooh !” ejaculated Zed, eyeing the rooster from 
a safe distance, his little legs set impudently apart 
and his hands thrust into his pockets. “Pooh, 
girls ! I knew it wouldn’ t kill him. Pomp’ s game, 
he is. Lick ’em all, can’t you, Pompey 

“Oh, Zed, you cruel, wicked, wanton boy ! Oh, 
Follet ! oh, Carol ! he is bleeding. Poor, poor old 
Pompey!” cried the distressed Fly, as she dis- 
covered a trickle of blood marking the wounded 
bird’s way about the floor. “ Run, Dimple, and get 
some lint 1” 

“ Put a mustard plaster on him. Fly,” suggested 
the sardonic Follet. 

“Zed,” threatened his aunt, who was now breath- 
lessly making futile efforts at imprisoning the 
rooster, ‘ ^ for this I will certainly punish you well. 
Your future demands it.” 

“You will. Aunt Fly?” questioned the embryo 
tyrant, who was hugely enjoying the cock chase. 
“If you do you know what I’ll do. PU tell every 
one of ’em.” 

“Tell?” queried Carol, suddenly turning upon 
Fly. “Tell? What does he mean, I beg to ask? 
There has always been a mystery in the villa, and I 
knew it. What is it you will tell. Sir ? Answer 
me.” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


157 


She knows,” was Zeddie’s severe response. 

‘‘Oh, Zeddie, darling,” interrupted Fly, as she 
caught up the cornered bird to hide her agitation, 
“how could you be so crueH To our dear old 
Pompey, too, who never did anything unkind to 
you in all his life.” 

“But, Auntie Fly, he does to Mr. Lovel ; he 
wakes him up with the chickens. He says he 
might as well go to bed on the apple tree with the 
rest of the brood.” 

The Bohemiennes broke forth simultaneously in 
sarcastic chorus : 

“ Who cares for Mr. Lovel, pray ?” 

‘ ‘ I really, mj dears, would not express myself in 
such a decided way before the child. The example 
is not elevating. Mr. Lovel seems to be a thorough 
gentleman, quiet, unassuming, and deserving of con- 
sideration,” broke in Aunt Daffodil’s gentle, ad- 
monitory voice. ‘ ‘ And what has the little one done 
that you all upbraid him so harshly ?” 

“Och, mum, he’s the bh’y fur throuble an’ mis- 
chief,” declared Mickey, observant of the scene, 
Iqs small body on the safe side of the door. 
“He’s in till ivery thing thot’s bod. It’s been the 
day ov it. I’m tould, wid his capers, an’ shure I’d 
belave it ov him !” 


158 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


‘‘There, girls,” said Carol, “I advised you to 
take him with you to the woods. It is not safe to 
leave him one hour by himself.” 

“I was at the villa during your absence, my 
dear,” blandly corrected Aunt Daffy. 

“But you can’t be all over the place at once. 
Auntie. He needs a strait-jacket. He’ll set the 
house on fire, one of these days.” 

“I can do that as easy,” explained the hopeful 
youth, all ears for suggestions. ‘ ‘ Jest take a match 
an’ some shavin’s — ” 

“ You’re born to develop the young intellect, 
Fly!” exclaimed Carol, disgustedly. “The safest 
place for that boy to expand is in his little bed. I’ll 
see to you. Sir. Fly seems to have lost her original 
influence (all of which mystery I propose to probe),” 
she added, under her breath, to Dimple, as she 
hustled Zed toward the doorway. 

“ I want Dimple 1 I won’t have you!” he pro- 
tested vehemently. 

“Go with him. Dimple,” said his aunt with alac- 
rity. ‘ ‘ Y our influence I always prefer. ’ ’ 

Carol stoutly demurred, but Zed got Dimple, the 
kitten and a large cooky, and was heard, as he 
scrambled up stairs, complaining manfully of his 
hard lot in life. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


159 


“I axes pardon for shpakin’, young ladies/’ ven- 
tured Mickey, again thrusting his head cautiously 
into the room, ‘‘but I can’t be makin’ mesilf alto- 
gither comprehinded wid thim gistures an’ wavin’ s 
an’ winkin’ s ye’re desirous to hev instead of spache ; 
an’ there’ s siveral doin’ s to be explained, an’ I wud 
say — ” 

“Carol,” whispered Fly, “Mickey is Just con- 
triving to stay. Elevate the warning.” 

Whereupon Carol arose with overwhelming so- 
lemnity (to which Follet’s groans over the still 
smarting applications added due expression), and 
proceeded to the closet, from the shelf of which she 
took an immense card ; upon its white surface was 
printed, in blood-red ink, these ominous words : 

“No conversation permitted with the opposite 
sex on penalty of death !” 

This marrow-chilling sign of silence Carol raised 
directly before Mickey’ s staring eyes. He cocked 
his fiery head to one side, shut one eye, and 
studied the warning sentence for the space of three 
minutes or more ; then he slowly smiled and wagged 
his head as if in pleased and flattered approbation. 
FoUet, peeping from out her blanket, became sus- 
piciously hysterical. 

“An’ it’s a foine bit ov vnritin’. Miss. Thank ye 


160 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


fur showin’ it to tlie loike ov me. It’s a long day 
since P ve seen a betther. Is it a ckaractlier, Miss V ’ 

‘‘ He can’t read,” murmured the disgusted Carol, 
lowering the card with weary arms. ‘‘Our wit is 
wasted like our midnight — candle. He thinks it is 
complimentary. ’ ’ 

“An’, axin’ yer pardon agin. Mum, but is the 
roosther to spind the night within ?” asked Mickey, 
discreetly backing out until nothing was visible of 
his small person except the glow of his red head. 
He addressed himself to Aunt Daffodil, who did not 
hold herself, for prudential reasons, rigidly to the 
villa’s rule of silence. 

“ That young divil cut his neck wid Misther Ed — 
ahem ! — Level’s bist razor. An’ it’s a miracle that 
ye’re afther savin’ it, bless ye 1” 

“Perhaps, Mickey, it would be as well for you 
to postpone the discussion and retire,” suggested 
Aunt Daffodil, who discerned in the scowling faces 
of the Bohemiennes coming vengeance against the 
persistent masculine intruder. “ And it may be as 
well to take Pompey with you. He seems out of 
pain now.” 

“And Mr. Lovel might mith him in the morn- 
ing,” wickedly added Dimple. 

Mickey accepted the elderly lady’s gentle hint. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


161 


and, gathering np the rooster nnder his arm, went 
his way soliloquizing : 

‘ ‘ Mickey, lad, it’ s a burnin’ shame if the fay- 
males can hould their tongues whilst yer own kapes 
waggin’ . He ! he ! I showed that same card, wid 
the big letthers onto it, to Misther Edward wan day. 
An’ he read it to me till me hair riz up fur the man- 
ner ov him. An’ if I don’t belave Miss Fly, and 
belikes Miss Carol, wud carry out thim sintimints. 
to the letther, I ain’ t Mickey. But — Miss Follet — 
ah!” with a sigh of unfathomable admiration, 
“Mver a wonst 1” 

^ ^ -M: * 

“How do you feel now, Follet?” inquired Fly, 
wlien the girls had subsided into a degree of pla- 
cidity. “ Better, I hope.” 

“I’m skinned. I will not wear this mustard 
plaster another minute. I^either will I drink one 
swallow of that horrid boneset teal.” Follet’ s 
protesting voice was neither sweet nor low, and was 
interrupted by a vigorous rapping on the door. 
Mickey’s head reappeared much disheveled. 

“ Miss Fly, I must shpake to ye. If it’s the last 
spache of me mouth, I must shpake.” 

“ Oh, Fly ! oh, girls 1” exclaimed Carol, beginning 
to wring her hands, awed by the Irishman’ s pale 
11 


162 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


face and agitated manner, ‘‘something terrible has 
happened. Speak, Mickey ! Do speak!” 

“ It’ s the masther, ’ ’ said Mickey solemnly. ‘ ‘ An’ 
it’s thot Zed agin. He’s tied a rope forninst the 
chamber dure, an’ Misfcher Ed — Ahem ! Lovel 
— Saints, save him ! — fell clane over it, an’ I belave 
it’s his leg is broke. Whirra ! If yez cud jest hear 
him a-takin’ on an’ groanin’ an’ sighin’. I hasted 
to tell yez whilst I wint fur Misther Profissor. Shure 
he’s the same as a docther himsilf. Och, murther ! 
Sez he — ” 

' “ What do you stay here talking for ? Why don’t 
you go for the Professor ? Gio this minute 1” order- 
ed Follet in peremptory tones, springing to her feet 
and scattering plasters and blankets over the floor. 
“Oh, girls, if he should die! If he should die! 
Save him ! save him ! ’ ’ and the overwrought girl 
buried her face in her trembling hands and cried 
aloud. 

“Follet is in hysterics again,” said Carol con- 
temptuously. “ A decided course of treatment will 
be needed in her case. Follet, if one is suffering, it 
isn’t the thing for a woman to relapse into sobbing 
— and sentiment. ’ ’ 

“Men cannot do without us when they are ill, 
that’s one point in our favor.” Fly was nervously 


THE VILLzV BOHEMIA. 


163 


tearing bandages out of a piece of old linen. “ Come, 
Aunt Daffy. You alone can speak with him, you 
know. Better bring the mustard, Carol.” And, with 
the pale FoUet in the rear, the Bohemiennes pro- 
ceeded en masse to the suffering man’s apartment. 
***** 

“ He tuk on purty bad,” reflected Mickey, light- 
ing his social pipe on a convenient fence-rail, as he 
made his way to the Professor at the Big Farm, 
•‘purty bad, begorra! But I’m afther thinking 
thot maybe he wasn’t so badly hurted at all, at all. 
He shtepped into bed too aisy be half. But the 
divil’s got thot bh’y, tooth an’ nails, an’ no amount 
ov prayin’ ’ll save him !” 


CHAPTER XYI. 


A GAME TWO CAN PLAY AT. 

‘‘A SPEAIN is an ugly hurt, obstinate and tedious,’’ 
said the Professor (who was an amateur surgeon), 
after an examination of his friend’s ankle. That 
boy is a mischievous marplot, Edward.” 

‘‘Not of necessity that. Who knows that the 
accident is wholly to be deplored, Leon ? I must 
have a nurse !” 

‘‘A nurse!” the Professor gave vent to an ex- 
pressive ‘humph 1’ “ Not a female. I tell you, my 
dear boy, a woman is not to be depended upon in 
an emergency. Half -her soul takes flight from her 
eyes. Forget to shave, wear an unbecoming neck- 
tie, have a boil on your nose, and ten to one she 
detests you from that moment. We are, as a sex, 
neither handsome nor patient as sufferers, ISTed. 
Take Mickey.” 

“I will have Polletl” exclaimed the sick man, 
with a sudden wince of pain that added undue en- 
ergy to his assertion. “And I’ll And out of what 
stuff she is made beforehand.” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


165 


‘‘ Shall I go for her, my boy V' 

“I dare you to ! Mickey says they are like a 
stirred-up hive of bees ; he wouldn’t speak to them 
for the keys of Saint Peter.” 

Mickey is — an Irishman. I will.” 

Coolly the Professor refilled his meerschaum, care- 
fully he polished his glasses, and collectedly he 
walked from his friend’s room. Edward looked 
after him with renewed admiration. 

He is a whole battalion,” he sighed. 

* * * * 

“ 1 quite agree with Follet, Ply, that you are 
daily becoming more and more captious and suspi- 
cious,” said Carol, who was concocting, with an im- 
portant air, a pot of savory broth. “And if there 
is a quality of nature that renders yourself and 
everybody about you miserable, it is fault-finding 
and suspecting. Why, my child, you are getting 
to be utterly dreadful, accusing innocent people of 
plots, and even fancying we — we girls could be 
guilty of motives and machinations.” 

“I wouldn’t pronounce it match-inations,” re- 
torted Fly. “You might hit on facts.” 

Kap ! Rap, rap, rap ! 

“It is a man,” said Carol, dropping the spoon in 
her agitation. “No woman ever knocks with all 


166 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


her knuckles at once. You open the door, Fol- 
let.’’ 

Grood evening, young ladies,” said the Profes- 
sor’ s voice briskly, as he stepped lightly into the 
cosy room, ‘‘I hope I see you all well — as you 
surely are comfortable. No, I thank you. I really 
have not the leisure to sit down” — as Fly, in her 
indignant agitation, accidentally moved a chair — 
‘ ‘ I come to you on an errand of mercy, from my 
patient, Mr. Lovel, whose condition fills me with 
extreme anxiety. Thanks, Miss Follet, I will take 
a glass of water, if not too much trouble.” Follet 
proceeded, hysterically, to the kitchen to procure 
the unofiered refreshment. ^‘He is very much 
weakened by the shock he has sustained,” con- 
tinued the irrepressible Professor, ‘‘and needs care- 
ful and sympathetic nursing. Miss Carol, I am 
glad to observe that you know how to concoct a 
broth for an invalid. That has an odor satisfying 
to a well man. I believe in building up my pa- 
tients. Excuse me. Miss Fly,” — that young woman 
was scowling behind the highbacked rocker — “but 
physicians are privileged persons — for you I would 
certainly recommend a tonic ; twenty pounds 
wouldn’t come amiss. Less exercise also, and a 
trifle more of the dolce far niente of life. Miss Fol- 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


167 


let,” — as overcome with one of her fits of giggling, 
she spilt the water she was carrying to the Profes- 
sor along the fioor — ‘4et me advise one of you, say 
yourself, to look in, as soon as possible up6n the 
suffering man. He needs not only care, but to feel 
that he is not altogether neglected among strangers. 
But women understand their mission, and all that 
sort of thing ; they seem to be wonderfully adapted 
to such merciful work. I feel that I can safely 
leave Mr. Lovel in your hands, ladies, and we will 
hope for the best. It will result from tender treat- 
ment, proper nourishment, and the encouragement 
such bright spirits as yourselves can afford him. 
Miss- Follet, I will prepare the medicines in such a 
way that you cannot fail in proper administration 
of them during the night. And whoever sits up 
with the patient had best be at her post within 
half an hour after my visit, as I shall then desire to 
have him sleeping under the effect of an opiate. 
Good evening, ladies. My respectful compliments, 
please, to your worthy aunt. You have a charm- 
ing retreat here. Quite an unique name for the 
secluded old house — the Yilla Bohemia. Good 
evening, good evening,” and the Professor made 
his exit. 

“ I never heard of such barefaced impertinence 


168 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


in all my life !” exclaimed Fly, as fche Bohemiennes 
drew breath. 

‘‘I thought I should have died laughing,’’ de- 
clared* Follet, preparing for a fresh outbreak. 

I wish you had!” cried Carol, wish we all 
had ! He must have taken us for born idiots ! Fly, 
with her mouth open and nose turned up ; me, with 
a dripping spoon, hair skewed on one hairpin, 
sticking up like a demoralized feather duster, and 
my disgusting thin arms bare to the elbow ; you, 
Follet, red in the face, giggling and giggling, and 
not one of us saying a word. Better be mutes and 
done with it 1” 

‘‘ Goodness me !” ejaculated the suddenly sobered 
Follet, staring with wide open eyes,, “goodness me 1 
Carol caring for a man’ s opinion 1 Carol nagging 
me because I giggle 1 Carol positively — blushing !” 
and the naughty Bohemienne whistled softly and 
expressively. 

“Stop that this instant, Follet,” said Fly. “It 
is an unfortunate masculine habit of obscure origin. 
We will have you smoking next.” 

“Phew! Nobody need smoke when that Pro- 
fessor is in the neighborhood. It is coming through 
the villa in clouds. I can’t abide it,” said Follet, 
closing every blind. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


169 


Fly, dear,” Carol came out from a state of deep 
and serious reflection, ‘‘ one of us girls will have to 
sit up with Mr. Lovel to-night.” 

Well, Carol, I cannot have it on my conscience 
to permit Follet to undertake it. She is not at all 
strong, and her nerves are easily disturbed. You 
and 1 will take turns.” 

“ Oh, Fly, please let me watch with the poor suf- 
ferer,” pleaded the delicate Follet. 

‘Mt seems to me. Miss, that you are especially 
desirous of taking upon yourself this uncongenial 
task,” retorted Fly, turning suspiciously upon the 
eager girl. 

JNot in the least. Fly dear, I do assure you, but 
I cannot allow you two girls to take it upon your- 
selves to do all the nursing, and Dimple is utterly 
irresponsible, as we all know. Besides, Mr. Lovel 
is very prostrated to-night, and would not be able 
to say a word. That would make it easier for 
me.” 

‘•Very well, Follet, that is a consideration; and 
maybe it will be as good a time for your services as 
any. I see you are bent on doing your share. ’ ’ 

‘‘ Wonderful, most wonderful for Follet I” inter- 
polated Carol. 

“But, Follet, you are a weak sister,” continued 


170 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


Fly, severely. ‘‘Will you be sure to remember 
your vow? Speak under no circumstances. Should 
grim death, even, stand at your elbow and jog it — 
say nothing.’’ 

“ JS'o, dear ; I will send for you to come and enter- 
tain him.” 

“Girls,” broke in Carol impatiently, “if you 
have settled upon a plan as to the night watch, 
suppose you make yourself useful and help in lift- 
ing off this pot of broth. Aunt Poke, I know, has 
fallen asleep in the cellar ; she went on an errand to 
that receptacle an hour since. There, I think,” 
tasting the sick man’s broth with a self-satisfied air, 
“the Professor will find no fault with that.” 

* * * * * 

“Decidedly a superb broth. Miss Carol. I would 
suggest, perhaps, a grain more salt. Here, Lovel, 
my boy, drink this ; it will infuse new life into your 
system;” and the Professor, in his role as physician, 
lifted his patient from the pillow, and placed the 
broth, which Carol had brought herself, to his lips. 
“Miss Carol,” he called, as she ran from the room, 
having, in womanly fashion, “straightened up 
things,” “Miss Carol, are you to be watcher to- 
night ?” 

Carol paused in her flight, looked back over her 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


in 


raised shoulder, and shook her saucy head nega- 
tively. 

‘‘Miss Fly, then V’ 

Another emphatic shake of the brown curls. 

“ Of course. Miss Follet, then, is to take upon 
herself the necessary duty ^ I should like to know 
positively. Miss Carol, because I must leave my di- 
rections as to the medicines, and the preparation of 
the bandages.” 

Carol teetered up and down on the sill of the open 
doorway, and tried hard to frown. How could she 
reply ? 

“He ought to think of my position,” she said to 
herself. 

“I am suffering considerably with a sore throat 
myself, this evening,” continued the persistent pro- 
fessional man, “and should it become more in- 
flamed I may not be able to look in upon my pa- 
tient again before to-morrow evening. I am thank- 
ful that I can, in such an emergency, leave him in 
good hands. I am liable to these attacks in the 
Spring and Fall ; they sometimes result in entire 
loss of voice, which you loiow. Miss Carol, a doctor 
cannot well afford. It makes matters very awk- 
ward for him.” A terrific fit of coughing here inter- 
rupted the Professor’s explanation, and the sick 


ir2 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


man stirred restlessly nnder the bedclothes. ‘‘How- 
ever, don’t let me detain you in the cold hall.” 

Carol was backing out by degrees. “I can write 
out my directions, so that Miss FoUet will be able 
to follow them until I see Mr. Lovel again. Good 
evening. Miss Carol.” 

There was no response. 

Carol’s little boot heels were heard beating a rapid 
retreat far down the hallway. 

“Keep quiet. Don’t excite yourself, my dear 
fellow,” advised the Professor, as soon as he found 
himself alone with his patient. I will relate to you 
the masculine charge that led to victory.” 

“You are greater than Kapoleon!” exclaimed 
Mr. Lovel, admiringly. “He was afraid of a 
woman. Dear girl !” rhapsodized the wonderfully 
recuperated sick man, when his friend had finished 
his highly elaborated recital of his adventure with 
the Bohemiennes. “Dear girl! If I cannot win 
her now, I do not deserve her. Follet shall be Mrs. 
Mahoney in spite of a million vows ! Oh, Leon, 
will she really condescend to sit up with me ? Sweet 
angel — ” 

“I will give you another opiate,” yawned the 
Professor, who, having written out certain “direc- 
tions ” for the fair nurse to be, prepared to take his 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


173 


leave. ‘‘ Keep as quiet as possible ; your ankle may 
make you trouble yet. And, by the way, Edward, 
don’t forget my role^ please. Turn about is fair 
play. By to-morrow evening, I will be as dumb as 
the Bohemiennes themselves, afflicted with a pecu- 
liarly sore throat that will forbid the utterance of 
three consecutive words. Want of speech, Mahoney, 
is a game two can play at. Miss Carol will come to 
me for a lesson in the little art of language before I 
am done. Ta-ta ! Don’t excite yourself.” 

The Professor took his departure. 


CHAPTER XYII. 


HER YERSION OF IT. 

“You look worn out, child,” said Fly, as Follet, 
pale in the gray dawn of light, crept into bed after 
her “watch.” “The idea of your sitting up the 
livelong night without relief ! Any one of us 
might have been called.” 

“Haven’t you slept one wink?” inquired Carol, 
sleepily. ‘ ‘ I never watched but once in my life, and 
then the doctors (there were three of them) gave me 
the most solemn and awful instructions to waken 
the patient every half-hour and administer to him a 
dose of black something or other. I could not keep 
awake, and so I just gave up trying and went off to 
the Hand of Nod;’ and, do you believe, girls, when I 
woke it was broad daylight and the dying man was 
calling for breakfast ? I can’t have faith in doctors 
now. I used to — ’ ’ 

“Carol, I should like to go to sleep, if you can 
reserve your faculty for story-telling.” 

“Before you do that, Follet,” said Fly, as she 
spatted her pillow into an upright support for her 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


175 


back, ‘Hell us all about fclie invalid. Did lie respect 
your vow (which he cannot pretend to ignore), or 
did he take advantage of his position as an interest- 
ing martyr 

“He acted like all other people with sprained 
ankles,’’ returned Follet, cautiously. “He could 
not move.” 

“You know what I mean, Follet. Did he try to 
inveigle you into a — ’ ’ 

“Talkee, talkee interrupted Carol, glibly. 
“ Don’ t fly into the face of Providence, Follet. Make 
a clean breast of it, as the economical landlady 
advised her guests concerning the chicken. It pays 
best in the long run.” 

“ He did not say one word, nor did I,” confessed 
the badgered Follet, sulkily. “He groaned, and 1 
held Ms head. He needed nourishment, and I gave 
him beef tea. He was restless and feverish, and I 
spatted up and cooled his pillows. I shall carry the 
pillows from the guest chamber in there to-morrow, 
girls. 1 was mortified to death, Fly, when I found 
that you had given him the gray chicken feathers, 
with no end of quills, to sleep on !” 

“Good enough for him!” retorted Fly. “Beg- 
gars mustn’t be choosers. I7obody asked Mm to 
come to the villa.” 


1T6 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


‘‘Perhaps Pollefc wo aid prefer eider-down for the 
ducky dear,” added Carol, sarcastically. “ Shav- 
ings are Just the thing for a man.” 

“Go on, Pollet, let us hear all,” demanded Fly. 

“ There is nothing more to tell,” answered Follet, 
her blue eyes heavy-lidded with sleep. “Let me 
alone, do!” 


CHAPTER Xyill, 


HIS VEKSIOH OF IT. 

“I DECLARE if I liave slept one wink the livelong 
night ! But I would lie awake forever for such 
sweet company !” exclaimed Laurence Lionel Lovel 
in enthused soliloquy. ^‘Each time her soft little 
fingers touched my forehead I thrilled deliciously. 
And how tenderly she tipped up the bowl of broth, 
and lifted, so thoughtfully, my moustache. By 
Jove!” and here the young man sat suddenly up- 
right in bed, his hair in an unbecoming frowse, and 
his eyes winking disturbedly — how, I should like 
to know, does she understand the needs of a mous- 
tache ? Ah ! Perhaps, a father or a brother wore 
one. No, it cannot be. Her father has been abroad 
since her infancy ; she has no brother. A — ah 1 
Some day she shall confess !” and the martyr to in- 
cipient jealousy indulged in an imaginary future of 
love quarrels and blissful reconciliations. Sweet- 
est of Follets 1 How divinely she looked, moving 
about in the firelight, dressed in that long, soft, blue 
thing-um-bob. It did not rattle, and rustle, and 
12 


178 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


scrape as — ahem ! — as other dresses do. And how 
quiet and seK-poised she was. I detest girls that 
are given to chattering and hysterics ! My FoUet 
is a true, calm, restful woman. I am certainly bet- 
ter this morning. Where is that lazy rascal Mick ? 
I ordered him to look in early. I want the hand- 
glass. I must need shaving amazingly bad. Mickey ! 
Mickey!” called Mr. Lovel in anything but an in- 
validish voice. ‘‘A fellow, I am sure, must show 
to better advantage by lamplight than daylight.” 
Gentle caressing of a silken moustache and senti- 
mental meditation : ‘ ‘ Darling Follet 1 My FoUet ! 
I feel that she loves me. It is my experience — 
ahem 1 I have observed that if you have little 
thrills run up and down your arm, when the 
woman you love touches your hand, there is sure 
to be affinity. I saw her blush. I felt her tremu- 
lousness. Oh, Follet ! my Follet ! Win you I 
wiU 1 I, poor, friendless, out at elbows, a simple 
charity student, a farm laborer, will win the sweet- 
est woman on earth. And then what proud exulta- 
tion to be able to say : I am a rich man, my wife ; 
and all that is mine is thine !” Another pause for 
reflection. ‘‘But, confound it! there is that fe- 
male crowd. Fly is the Gibraltar of the whole 
position. I wish some one would take her! That 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


179 


aunt of Follet’s is not a bad ally. If I only dared 
to tell ber ! But I will not ; sbe might be merce- 
nary and spoil all. * There is Zed. Leon says — by 
the way, what the dickens does be want to mas- 
querade for ? He is an odd fish, an odd fish. Lose 
bis voice ? Ahem 1 ‘A game two can play at f 
He can’t play at any game with Follet, be may 
plainly understand. Coming — here to-night — a 
mute?” Still further perplexed consideration of 
the problematic subject. “Ha! ha! Ha! ha! I 
have it ! Carol watches with me. He is in love 
with the little mad-cap. By J ove ! They are well 
matched ! Grood ! . Good ! Ten to one on the Bo- 
hemienne. I’ll be in at his death after all his 
boasting. Ha, ha ! Mickey ! Mickey ! I s — a — ay, 
you Irish scoundrel, come here !” 


CHAPTER XIX. 


mickey’s version oe it. 

“ Yer o’wn gran’ father’d sqnale at the loikes ov 
yez, ye dirty pig ! Fwhat’ s the use ov me washin’ at 
all, at all, an’ puttin’ clane clothes on me bock, whin 
yez have no more manners nor a two-ligged baste ? 
Och, I’ m ruined intirely wid yer onpolite threshing at 
yer vittals !” It was Mickey apostrophizing the pig 
at his — the pig’s — early morning repast, and turn- 
ing over in his fertile brain, at one and the same 
time, the ‘‘siveral doin’ s of the Yilla Bohemia.” 
‘‘ I peeked in the windy at the masther on me way. 
‘Mickey! Mickey!^ he was afther repatin^ behint 
me bock. But sez I to mesilf, sez I : Xiver yez 
moind, Misther Edward Mahoney, it’s not Mickey 
wud be disturbin’ ye at yer mornin’ devotions. An’ 
sez I : Bein’ I am in yer mimory a bit, maybe ye’ll 
give me a prayer, fur the Mahoneys is an ould an’ 
respictable family up above. Murther an’ turf! 
The time it was sindin’ off ov ould Michael. An’ 
the — ” 

“Quee! Quee-quee! Quee^ee-ee !” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


181 


‘‘Kapejw nose out ov the bizness ov jer bet- 
thers !” cried the Irishman, disturbed in his 
meditations by the vivacious swine. ‘‘It’s the way 
ov the wurruld, begorra ! I’ m afther puttin’ me 
own f ut in till it agin an’ agin’ . Is it Misther Ed- 
ward, I’m wonderin’, desirin’ me attindance ?” he 
coolly queried, as his master’ s peremptory and con- 
tinued calls reached him. “He’s out ov timper 
airly the day, afther swateheartin’ the blissed night, 
too. Begorra ! maybe he’ s soured wid too much 
swate. Well, he’s the foine mon; the bist ov the 
Mahoneys.” Mickey, at this point, relit his pipe, 
and took a more comfortable seat on the woodpile. 
“He is, indade. An’ Miss Follet’ s the gim ov the 
gurruls. His choice wud be me own. Ahem ! An’ 
they niver oncet heard me — the childers ! — whin I 
tuk me sate last avenin’ in the dure. The groanin’ 
an’ takin’ on ov thot bh’y, and the swate succorin’ 
ov thot young lady, an’ the layin’ on ov wit towels, 
an’ curry -combin’ ov his head wid her white fin- 
gers ! Och!” groaned the little Irishman, in 
covetous recollection. “If Biddy McBride hadn’t 
thim quare eyes an’ thim red hair (an’ it’ s in the 
family sufficient), an’ wasn’t afther brakin’ up 
housekapin’ wid her timper ivery wake, I’d go 
to the praste, I wud. I mane if it wasn’ t, shure, 


182 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


fur me Molly an’ tlie cliUd in the onld conn- 
thry.” 

‘‘Mick! Mick, you rascal! Come here, or I’ll 
break your neck !” 

“Hear him!” grumbled Mickey, slowly getting 
down from his sunny perch. “An’ the state ov 
him ! Kape a civil tongue wid yer elders, Misther 
Edward Mahoney. It’s tongue enough ye’ll git 
whin ye’ve been till the praste. It’s thim gurruls 
thot’s purrin’ loike kittens — ” 

“I shall discharge you to-morrow,” threatened 
his angry master, as Mickey swallowed his last 
cogitation in a whisper, and stood in the doorway of 
the east chamber. 

“An’, sur, maybe it wnd be betther. Me bist 
days is over. Miss Follet — God kape her, for the 
swatest, purtiest — ” 

‘'There, Mickey! Never mind this time. Be a 
little spryer to-morrow morning, that’ s a good fel- 
low. And hand me the glass and brushes.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


MATCHED. 

The wood fire on the hearth burned fiercely and 
fiamed np, and, in its caprice of light and shade, 
touched with alternate grotesque and dreary mean- 
ings the objects of the room. The chairs might have 
been many-legged centipedes, the large, old-fash- 
ioned bureau a dusky megatherium (towering out 
from a vivid imagination), and the high-posted bed- 
stead, Carol said to herself, could easily be mistaken 
for a ‘‘dreadful black-canopied hearse,” or, with a 
more pleasing fiight of fancy, a “ huge sea-shell ’ the 
broad, white ruffles of the pillows, which FoUet had 
transported from the guest chamber, standing in 
lieu of the fiuted edges of the gem of the sea. ‘ ‘ And 
after all,” soliloquized the fanciful girl during the 
first hour of her watch in Mr. Loveh s sick room, 
“the person lying so stiJl there might be a hand- 
some, wandering prince in disguise fallen asleep — ” 

Here Carol touched, with a fidgety little foot, the 
end of the projecting, smoldering wood piled high 
against the backlog. Up went a dozen yellow 


184 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


tongues of fire, and down fell cascades of sparkling 
rubies, and up started Laurence Lionel Lovel out of 
a vision of FoUet. 

Carol looked shjlj over at him. 

“Please, Miss Carol, may I have a drink P’ 

Carrol carried a glass of water to her slightly 
feverish patient. 

“ What time is it, please ? You will find my 
watch. Miss Carol — ’’ Now this poor young man s 
timepiece was be jeweled and magnificent, a family 
heir-loom. He hesitated. “No, I believe, on sec- 
ond thought, you will not. Excuse me, but it can- 
not be late 

“Poor fellow ! He probably has disposed of his 
watch to meet the necessities of life. How on earth 
shall I answer him without speaking ? He has no 
business to speak to me,” were Carol’s mental cogi- 
tations. 

“Miss Carol, if you could only tell me what hour 
it is,” persisted the sick man. 

Carol was not hard hearted, but her principle was 
as firm as the Plymouth rock whereon her Puritan 
ancestors slipped. She reviewed the perplexing 
situation with a lightning-like rapidity, and then, 
seizing a match — one of the old-fashioned, reliable 
sort, with plenty of orthodox brimstone on it — she 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


185 


inscribed, m a huge character of fire, upon the 
shadowy wall near the bed, the figure ‘‘7.” 

‘ ‘ Fly would declare it smells to heaven of rank 
offense and burning treason,” said the ingenious 
girl to herself as, having received due thanks from 
Mr. Lovel, she relapsed into fire-fancies. ‘‘I hope 
to goodness I am not to be put to the rack of inven- 
tion too often! After all,” she continued, holding 
her slender hands, clasped together, tightly against 
the back of her curly head (a favorite fashion from 
childhood), ‘‘ sometimes I think not one of my sex 
is to be entirely depended upon. /We are not put 
to the test often enough, that is the trouble/ Here 
am I continually tempted to do just what I vowed, 
and was sure, I never would do. I made that vow 
with due consideration, and with my eyes wide open 
so far as the opposite sex goes. I certainly do not 
like their society very much. I never did. They 
are never exactly what one fancies them ; so very 
superior, or else so very weak ; so high and mighty, 
or too disgustingly humble and spooney ; so prim 
and particular, or else such beasts. No happy 
medium, with just enough faults and just too few 
virtues. I like to feel at ease with one I love. 
Think of buttoning a collar for a saint, or brushing 
a cherub’s overcoat, or saying, ‘you soft thing!’ 


186 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


when some one too divine tries to kiss yon and 
stumbles naturally over the door mat ! I don’ t be- 
lieve there is any one just right. I shall never, 
nejer find my ideal ; so I may as well be contented, 
and continue my state of single blessedness.” This 
last reflection expressed with such a profound sigh 
that the sick man, on the opposite side of the room, 
thought it a mysterious echo of his own, and sat 
suddenly up in bed startled, his eyes wide open and 
his hair disheveled. Hum ! Let me see. What 
sort of a husband should I like?” further silent 
meditation by the little Bohemienne. ‘‘Hum ! Tall, 
dignified, with broad shoulders. I detest a delicate 
man ! Brown hair not too light, and especially fine 
eyes ; soulful eyes, I mean, and also a pleasant 
mouth. Disposition? Let me think. We’ll say, 
well, merry when I’m in the mood ; reflective, of 
course — that is, when I reflect, and not a bookworm, 
but a scholarly man without question. I know I 
should snub a man who did not know as much as I 
do. Then I should prefer to have him practical ; 
but, dear me, how charming a real poet would be ! 
He would color the prosaic part of living for one — 
but then poets never can make their bread and but- 
ter, and one must be taken care of. How, an 
universal genius I would not have ; they never 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


187 


amount to anything worth speaking of. Neither 
does a stupid creature with only one idea in his 
head. Horrible ! No, my husband must be prop- 
erly balanced. This is the way;” and to the sick 
man’ s intense amusement Carol balanced an imagin- 
ary creature between her two small hands. 

‘‘Here is poetry, and there is practicality. Here 
is gravity, there is levity, and so on, and so on. I 
should want,” continued the earnest and forsworn 
Bohemienne, ‘Mother women to admire him as proof 
of my good taste in selection..- Who would care for 
a man nobody else wanted? But,” and Carol’s 
hands were dangerously clenched, “should he neg- 
lect me for them for even the smallest part of a 
second in my whole life, I would — I would — wish I 
had never seen him ! He might be jealous himself. 
I know I never could stand that. I should do 
something rash, I know I should, just to prove that 
no living creature could limit the freedom of my 
sex ! Deliver me from a jealous man !” Carol 
mused awhile. She was not altogether satisfied with 
her matrimonial picture. “I guess, after all, the 
villa is the best place for me ; my books, my scrib- 
bling, my dreams and impossible ideals, and no one 
to scold or disappoint. Goodness me ! Fancy Fly 
looking into the depths of my soul ! I have been 


188 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


thinking of a husband for a full half-hour. It must 
be time for that Professor.’’ 

As Carol concluded a rap was heard on the cham- 
ber door. 

I shall not say ‘ come in !’ I can’t if I would,” 
she added. 

But the door opened softly, without let or hin- 
drance,” and the Professor entered, to catch a view 
of a little figure in a coquettish scarlet and white 
wrapper making haste to assume a defiant and pro- 
fessional attitude before the flickering firelight. 

A bow, an informal dropping ofi of a top coat, and 
a finger significantly pointed at his much tied up 
throat, constituted the new comer s greeting to Carol, 
who stared and stared at the silent visitor. A move 
to the bedside of Mr. Lovel, and wordless manipu- 
lation of the latter’ s wrist on the part of the amateur 
surgeon. 

‘ ‘ Indeed, doctor, I am awfully sorry to see that 
your affliction has seized you again. Are you sufier- 
ing much 1 I blame myself for being the cause of 
bringing you out into this night air. You should 
have sent word over by Mickey. Y ou will be obliged 
to go abroad, I fear, old fellow, if these attacks recur 
so frequently.” 

The Professor gesticulated ruefully. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


189 


“Yes, thank you,” continued Mr. Lovel; “I am 
certainly better. I owe it to you and my most 
kind nurses.” Then, more drowsily, ‘^That opiate 
you left has somehow sent me off into a sort of 
heaven on earth. I don’ t wonder, doctor, at the 
Orientals.” 

The mute surgeon hereupon made earnest ges- 
tures that, interpreted, meant his patient had bet- 
ter relapse, as soon as feasible, into a like state of 
drowsy beatitude. Then he took a chair near the 
tire, and rubbed his chilled hands vigorously in the 
heat of the dancing flames. Carol edged off. The 
intruder, with an air of innocence of intention, 
moved up nearer ;^and the victim to opium smiled 
delightedly, and rubbed his Mephistophelian hands 
beneath the bedclothes. A silence ensued. 

“I shall certainly have a fit,” groaned Carol 
under her breath. “I will not be treated in this 
way ! I perfectly detest his ways, and I know he 
is just tantalizing me !” At this point of the pro- 
ceedings she stole a look to see if her tormentor 
were really so doing. The Professor’s bearded face 
was as stolid as an Indian’s. “I’ll go out fin the 
hall and freeze before I’ll endure it! However,” 
she added, a bit more philosophically, “it can- 
not last all night. I am to call Fly at twelve 


190 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


o’clock. The hateful, hateful man! She will 
punish him !” 

Carol had a terrible attack of the fidgets — to 
which she was subject — and, unable to sit still 
longer, she made a sudden move in her rocker, and 
tipped to one side. The toe of her small slipper 
struck against the end of the fiery fabric before her, 
and down fell the whole glowing mass^ and a shower 
of red hot coals settled on her dainty foot. 

Ouch ! Ouch 1” It was not a dignified ejacu- 
lation. 

‘‘The dickens!” responded the Professor. 

Carol was too preoccupied with her own ordeal 
to notice the dumb doctor’s exc];imation. Up she 
sprang ; up he sprang. Down went his curly head, 
up went hers. Bump ! Away went Carol hopping 
madly about the room, seeing stars innumerable, with 
one foot smarting horribly held in her hand ; and the 
Professor, thinking only^ of the girl’s suffering, 
rushed after her gesticulating wildly and offering, 
ill unintelligible bows and wavings of deprecatory 
hands, his professional services. Diabolism under 
the bed cover, stuffed the corner of the blanket in 
his mouth, and peeped out, with sardonic delight, 
at the novel war dance. 

By and by — the stars having gone out — Carol 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


191 


dropped her aggrieved little foot and looked dis- 
dainfully at the Professor, who was nervously fill- 
ing his meerschaum, and then contritely at the 
place of the wounded ankle. 

‘^Of course, he is made wakeful and nervous 
again,” she said. Then she walked to the window, 
cried a little — and was careful not to rub her nose 
red — and, finally, slowly returned to her seat by 
the fire. The Professor was already seated there 
smoking in moody silence. 

‘‘ There is no use in offering my services to her,” 
he decided. “ She would only snub me. I rather 
like the little one’s spirit.” 

“He’s as cold as a fish,” she concluded. “To 
think he could see me suffer so and do nothing ! I 
was rather hateful to him, I must admit. I like a 
man with some dignity.” 

Nine o’clock. Carol reclined comfortably in the 
cushioned depths of the high-backed rocker, but 
she was still nervous concerning the situation. 

“He is bound to stay,” she complained to herself. 
“ What can possess him ? I believe he is asleep.” 

Mr. Lovel took a survey from his corner. 

“By Jove! Too quiet by half! Honors easy 
between them. I believe Pll come to the rescue.” 

“Oh! Oh! O-o— oh! Doctor! lam — 0-oh!” 


192 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


In a trice the Professor was bending over the 
writhing, groaning man, and Carol, at his profes- 
sional elbow, shivered and paled with fear, and med- 
itated a flight after Aunt Daffodil and the other 
Bohemiennes. 

‘^Gammon,” whispered Level in the Professor’ s 
ear as the latter pressed him closely. Then aloud : 
‘‘ Oh ! — I feel — I can’t — last long. Oh !” , 

I must go for help !” moaned poor Carol, quite 
overcome with the scene of sudden agony. ‘‘I 
must. He is dying, and our Zed did it !” 

The Professor turned and took her little cold 
hand in silent sympathy, and shook his head in 
wise dissent. Carol snuggled up closer to his sub- 
stantial form in her excitement, and experienced a 
new and delightful sense of reliance and intense ad- 
miration steal over her, at his display of calm judg- 
ment and medical skill. 

“ I feel — feel — better,” gasped the patient, after 
swallowing, with many convulsions, a dose of some 
potent liquid, ‘‘I thought my — my heart was at 
its old — old tricks again, doctor.” 

Carol, all the womanliness of her nature to the 
surface, patted the disturbed pillows, and once ten- 
derly touched LovePs forehead, whereat the Pro- 
fessor shook his head disapprovingly, and insisted 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


193 


on perfect quiet. The sick man apparently slept 
once niore. The watchers sat again in silence as be- 
fore, by the fire. 

Ten o’ clock. Suddenly the Professor drew from 
his pocket a note-book, wrote in it, and laid it upon 
Carol’ s lap : 

“You need not utter a word. I respect your vow 
of silence,” she read, “but I must give some fur- 
ther necessary directions concerning Mr. Lovel. I 
must also ask certain questions. We cannot afford 
to imperil a human life.” Carol trembled. “ Would 
you object to being taught the deaf and dumb al- 
phabet since, I am told, your vow of silence as to 
my sex prohibits your writing V ’ 

Carol pondered, flushing rosy red ; then she 
looked shyly up under her long lashes and smiled 
dubiously. 

The Professor wrote further : 

“ May I teach you ?” 

Carol considered as before, rocked violently, 
blushed redder, and then slowly inclined her head 
affirmatively. 

Down went the Professor’s note-book, and up 
went his thumb and finger, “M.” Carol imitated 
charmingly, while a dimple began to thaw out from 
the surface of her frigid little face. The revived 

13 


194 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


Level chuckled, sighed, thought of FoUet, and went 
calmly to sleep. 

***** 

“ It is certainly a great deal to ask of us,” said 
Fly, in a whisper, trailing into the sick room where 
Carol awaited her. ‘‘ It is after twelve, dear, but I 
could not come sooner. Zed swallowed a brass but- 
ton, and I fear cannot digest it. I had to sit with 
him as he continued to be restless in his sleep, and 
Aunt Daffodil could not remain awake even with 
Mrs. South worth's latest. I am sorry ; you must 
have had the horrors all this time alone. Ugh !” 

‘‘ I have tried to keep up my spirits,” said Carol, 
getting out of the warm rocker, bright-eyed and 
rosy. ‘‘Mr. Lovel has been perfectly quiet and 
comfortable since ten o’clock. He had — ” 

“ Never mind his late symptoms, so that he don’t 
have them while I am with him,” interrupted Fly, 
sitting down to her “watch,” and wrapping her 
slim figure luxuriously in a large, soft shawl. 
“How you existed here alone with him, I can’t 
understand.” 


CHAPTER XXI. 
dimple’s duplicity. 

It stood, a quaint little chapel, hidden away in 
the edge of the wood, quite off from the turnpike, 
and far from the inquisitiveness of a passing world. 
It was as picturesque as possible ; ivy clambered 
over its walls, and a group of English yews and 
holly gave it quite a foreign air. Just beyond their 
never-fading verdure a slim, white marble shaft 
arose, on which was inscribed the name and good 
works of the pious churchman who built the gray- 
walled place of prayer. t)nce a month the rector of 
a neighboring parish came and held service, to the 
accompaniment of rustling tree boughs and chirping 
birds, but other times it stood voiceless and deserted 
of all. 

‘‘An’ it’s a quare ould place,” meditated Mickey, 
as he scraped a sacrilegious match on the chapel 
wall. “ Thim heretics ! The howl y fathers of the 
thrue church wudn't be lavin’ so foine a pace ov 
property to the owls and bastes ov the air.” 

The little Irishman was uneasy ; he was waiting. 


196 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


and striving to entertain liis restless son! with the 
philosophy of his race. 

‘‘Thot’s a qniet, paceful grave yon. Ony mon 
on top ov airth ought to be thankful to be out ov 
throuble under it.” Mickey shifted his position 
and gazed out toward the highway. ‘‘An’ maybe 
it’s me tinder conscience throubles me,” he con- 
tinued. ‘ ‘ An’ maybe it isn’ t roight, all the same. 
The loikes o’ thim childers ; he wid a scraggle ov 
whiskers on his chake, an’ she a- suckin’ ov her 
purfcy little lips, whin she’s shpakin’, loike she’s at 
her mother’ s breast. Ocli ! murther ! Thot same' s 
fwhat Miss Fly’ll be afther doin’ wid yez, Mickey, 
me bli’y, when shefoinds out the capers o’ thim two 
babies ! An’ the ould wan^at the Heights. Whirra ! 
An’ Miss Dimple hersilf, wid nothin’ but her purty 
manners an’ ways, and divil a cint to bless hersilf 
wid ! Misther Edward sez he : ‘ Mick, make a 
clane breast ov it,’ (he’s the wan fur discoverin’!) 
‘Ye’ve been a party to the shparkin’ ov them ‘ babes 
in the woods.’ An’ sez I — nowise regardin’ his 
suspicions— sez I : ‘ Misther Edward, wud I put 
me fut intill sich ongodly doin’ s?’ An’ sez he : 
‘Yev’e a guilty luk, Mick.’ An’ sez I: ‘Then 
natur giv’ it to me, sur.’ An’ sez he: ‘When a 
mon shpakes fhwat isn’t truth, there’s tistimony 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


197 


on tlie back ov his band.’ An’ sez I — takin’ a sly 
Ink at me band — sez I : ‘ There’ s a clane wan fur 
yez!’ An’ be laffs, an’ sez agin: ‘An Irishman’s 
wit cbates the divil, onless the divil is Irish too.’ ” 
Mickey chuckled awhile, and then added proudly, 
‘‘ Thim Mahoneys can’t be bate. Here come thim 
childers. Murther! Murther ! Me sowd’s in me 
boots, an’ the bock ov me’s all in a shiver !” 

“I am tho frightened, Artie. Oh, do pothpone 
it,” pleaded Dimple, half crying, as the carriage and 
ponies that bore her sRid her would-be bridegroom 
toward the little chapel, turned in under the yew 
trees. 

“Postpone our happiness? Waste another pre- 
cious hour of our lives by being separated, my 
darling? No, no. Do not ask it. Everything is 
arranged for the ceremony, my sweet. The clergy- 
man, a good young friend of mine, is waiting for us. 
He would not many us, little one, if it were not all 
right. I will soon be my own master, and, until 
then, here are two strong arms,” — said arms proved 
their manly strength by squeezing the trembling 
little form beside him. “Postpone! I guess not. 
I’ll have you now or never !” 

“Artie, indeed, indeed, I cannot. Take me back 
to the villa, pleathe, pleathe.” 


198 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


“ You do not love me. You have deceived me all 
this time then.” Artie frowned gloomily. 

Dimple pulled his boyish face close down to her, and 
her red, soft lips pressed his own like a warm rosebud. 

‘‘ I do love you, dear, dear Artie. Have I not run 
away from the girlth ? Oh, Artie, did I not leave 
Theddie and the kitten, and Pomp, and Sylph, and 
Aunt Poke ? And oh, have I not broken my vow 
and the contrite Dimple buried her tearful face in 
her hands. 

‘‘ Stulf !” ejaculated the irreverent Artie, driving 
as rapidly as possible up to the chapel door, and 
winking to Mickey, on the way, to hasten matters. 
“What’s a lot of girls’ vowing, pet? Besides, 
Dimple, you are under age. Can’t hold you re- 
sponsible for their nonsense.” 

“It ith not nonthenthe,” asserted Dimple, bri- 
dling at masculine assumption — the effect of the 
villa. “ It ith real tholemn — ” 

But Artie took away the Bohemienne’ s breath by 
clasping her in his eager arms, and jumping her 
from the carriage, and in a few minutes the two 
were before the chapel altar, the “good young 
friend” officiating, and Mickey — his pipe still in his 
hand to give him confidence — standing “best man” 
to the heir of Haughton Heights. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


199 


‘‘Me bist wishes, Mrs. Moore,” congratulated 
Mickey, after the ceremony. “Ye’ve both me 
heartiest sympathy, an’ may yez live long an’ yer 
family — 

“Thanks, a thousand thanks, Mickey,” inter- 
rupted the proud young husband, leading the 
frightened, blushing Dimple back to the carriage. 
“We have the finest prospect for happiness. Every 
one will love my wife,” and he kissed rapturously 
the winsome girl-face upturned to his, and found 
tears on his incipient moustache. “ But, see here, 
Mick, on honor now, not a word. It is to be a se- 
cret, a dead secret between us until Dimple, my 
wife, chooses to reveal it. We don’t want the whole 
county talking over it until family matters are set- 
tled. Bemember, not a whisper — even to your 
master.” 

Mickey nodded. He was completely subdued. 

And so the wedded lovers, in the roseate dawn of 
their Joy, went away, and the afternoon sun sent a 
long golden ray of light and warmth down their 
path as if heaven compassionately blessed them. 

“An’ he naden’t be so particelar,” grumbled 
Mickey, as he plodded his way homeward. “It’s 
not mesilf wud be revalin’ the capir ov thim two to 
the faymales. I’ve more discrition concarnin’ me 


200 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


own welfare, begorra I There’ll be the time at the 
Heights !” 

* * * * * * 

‘‘ Where is Dimple, this evening?” inquired Fly. 
She had missed the young girl’s usual lisp from the 
ante-supper conversation. 

‘‘Where, indeed?” echoed Carol, who struggled, 
in the waning daylight, to darn a stocking over a 
handleless teacup. “ I have asked that question 
before, this evening. The child has been too often 
among the ‘missing’ of late. Fly, it seems to me 
that you have been dreadfully remiss in your duties 
as head of our association. Kind of abstracted like, 
and dumpy and snippy. Plague take this stock- 
ing !” 

“Thanks,” replied Fly calmly. “Maybe your 
own spectacles colored my acts.” 

“Squabbling?” inquired Follet, rushing in, her 
hair on end and her cheeks very rosy. “ Oh ! girls, 
I’ve had such a race through the garden with Zed. 
You see Curly-tail, the wee piggie, got out of the 
pen, and we — ” 

“With Zed?” chorused the girls, and hostilities 
were quickly suspended. “With Zed? Isn’t he 
with Dimple?” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


201 


‘‘With Dimple ! He has been with me all the 
afternoon after nuts.” 

“ Oh ! where is the child cried Carol. “ She is 
kidnapped. I know it ! She is so pretty !” 

“Hush this minute, Carol,” demanded Fly, sen- 
sibly. ‘ Dimple is out of pinafores — although I had 
my doubts as to the propriety of it — and she is too 
dumpy to be picked up at the garden gate and car- 
ried otf. And of all things, do not arouse Aunt 
Daffodil. I will question Zed. Come here, sir,” 
as the small boy appeared, much smudged, on the 
scene. “ Where did you see Dimple last, and 
when V ’ * 

“I seed her — I seed her — yesterday,” responded 
the hopeful Zed, his little black forefinger on his 
saucy nose. 

“You naughty boy! You know what I mean. 
Put your hand down this minute and answer me. 
Did you see Dimple go away anywhere?” 

“Oh! ye — e — es, I did. Auntie FJy. She cried, 
and I bet I know who’s got her. It’s Artie Moore, 
old long-legged stick-ih-the-mud ! ” 

“Follet,” said Fly, very pale about the mouth, 
“go up into Dimple’s room and see what she had 
on.” 

Follet obeyed, and returned, her blue eyes very 


202 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


wide open and her month round with amaze- 
ment. 

‘‘She had on her best mohair and my shawl, and 
Carol’s bonnet with the blue ostrich tips — and your 
new boots, Fly !” 

“She has eloped!” was Carol’s decision as she 
sank down in a little helpless heap on the floor. 
“ Dimple never, never would have fixed up if she 
hadn’t been going to get married. It is that Artie 
Moore.” 

“Here’s a letther, Miss Fly. It’s just arrived — 
by male,” said Mickey, some hours later in the eve- 
ning, his Vesuvius of a head vanishing more quick- 
ly than it appeared. 

“You read it, Carol,” pleaded poor Fly, undone 
for once. “ Of course it is from Dimple.” Carol 
read : 

“Dear, Darling Girls: 

“Please (Artie says that is not spelt right)— 
please don’ t be angry with me ; I cannot bear it, and 
shall cry my eyes out if you do. 

“I am married. Will you all forgive me, this 
time ? Artie says if you are women you will, but 
then, all girls do not find husbands like mine. 

“I am at the sweetest old place. It is a tavern 
with funny little low chambers in it. Artie chose 
it because it is so retired, and quite near to his own 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


203 


beautiful Lome on the Heights. We shall remain 
here, he says, a week, and then go to his mother 
— that is, of course, if she asks us. 

“Forgive your little Dimple. And please tell 
darling Zeddie I am so sorry to leave him, but he 
will come to visit me and it will be quite the same. 
Forgive me. Oh do! every one of you, and expect to 
see me when my mother-in-law sends back the 
ponies. Artie — that is, my husband, — desires his 
kindest regards to all in the villa. 

“Your loving, 

“ Dimple Moore. 

“P. S. Artie says that I did not break any vow 
because I was not of age when you took me in, and 
swore under compulsion.’’ 

“One Bohemienne gone !” exclaimed Carol cross- 
ly. “A fine text for the other sex ! However, 
Dimple is no criterion ; she’s as soft as soft can be. 
Just the sort of girl to run away.” 

“ To be run away with,” corrected the more leni- 
ent Follet. “ That Artie Moore’s artfulness reaches 
the depths of depravity f ’ 

“It does not exceed Dimple’s duplicity.” And, 
with this sorrowful admission of feminine weakness. 
Fly went slowly upstairs to break the news to 
Aunt Daffodil and have a good cry all to herself. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


FOLLET FLIES. 

In the low-ceiled, old-fashioned parlor of the 
villa, a broad chintz-covered lounge, (pattern 
Cupids and roses,) was drawn before the cheerful 
blaze of a wood tire on the hearth. Flowering 
plants bloomed in the small-paned windows, ivy 
ran up the quaintly papered walls, and all sorts 
of dainty feminine devices, in the way of ornament, 
were scattered lavishly over tables, mantel and , 
brackets. A carven book-case stood in one angle 
of the room tilled with a delightful hodge-podge of 
literature, and was surmounted by a bust of Shake- 
speare with a cracked nose, the property of the 
tragic Fly. Lastly, there was a ^‘domestic” rocker, 
warranted not to turn over, and, in its crimson- cush- 
ioned depths, sat Follet, spasmodically rocking to 
and fro to the intense disgust of a great gray cat 
crouching in her warm lap. 

There was heard a rap at the door, and Mickey 
appeared, puffing and panting, with Laurence 
Lionel Lovel leaning upon his small arm. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


205 


‘ ‘ He’ s as wake as a young robin ont ov the nist, 
Miss. An’ I’m rejiced thot ye’re afther gittin’ him 
ont ov that miserable room wid no sun to shpake ov, 
an’ the cock — bad cess tiU him ! — ^risin’ onrasona- 
bly airly.” 

‘‘This is comfortable!” exclaimed the convales- 
cent, interrupting the Irish flow of enthusiasm, and 
limping toward Follet. “I hope, in your kindness. 
Miss Follet, you will not permit me to incommode 
any one in the villa.” 

Follet had risen and dropped pussy sans cere- 
inonie. Her glowing, pleased face was turned to- 
ward Mickey as she gesticulated her orders for Mr. 
Lovel’ s immediate comfort. (Fly, supplemented by 
the softened Carol, had consented to the arrange- 
ment, and left Follet to carry it out according to the 
easiest method consistent with their vow.) 

“Put him right there, Mickey, on the lounge near 
the Are, with his face away from the window. Care- 
fully.” Mickey, following the motions of the small, 
commanding Angers, assisted his master to the place 
assigned among the Cupids and the roses. Then he 
dropped his Aery head to one side and seemed to 
“take in” the situation critically and comically. 

“If ye ain’t in heaven now, Misther Ed — ahem ! 
Lovel, yez niver will be I An’ whin Saint Peter is 


206 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


a.vin f what he can giv yez thot yez haven’ t had — ye’ 11 
get nothin.” 

‘ ‘ You may go now, Mick, ’ ’ said his master. ‘ ‘And 
don’t forget my message to the Professor.” 

“If it’s to be aisy in me conscience in this same 
matther, I’m a saved mon,” muttered the Irishman, 
jingling a pocket full of newly acquired coin. ‘ ‘Aisy 
in yer pocket, begorra ! goes a ways further in this 
wurruld. Heaven’ s just till the poor mon but per- 
liter to the rich !” 

Flowers, sunlight, and a lovely girl ! Who could 
ask more ? Laurence Lovel was “in clover.” He 
pointed to that little symbolic blossom embroidered 
on the sofacushion and smiled contentedly into Fol- 
et’s eyes. The young girl blushed, and gathering 
up pussy buried her small nose in the furry coat. 

Purr-r-r-r-rr ! 

“You are contented, too, pussy, aren’t you ?” Re- 
newed purring, and affectionate hunching up of the 
cat’s back. “Pussie knows her best friend since 
naughty Dimple ran away, doesn’ t she ? I share my 
crust mth you, and my cake, too, don’t I, puss f ’ 

“Pass shall have roast beef and the richest of 
gravy the larder provides, — that is when I get rich, 
Puss, you know,” promised the young man, ad- 
dressing the feline, who opened wide her red mouth 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


207 


with a rapacious yawn. ‘‘If, Puss — now listen — if 
your sweet, precious little mistress will share it with 
us.” 

“Pussie,” whispered FoUet, and she buried her 
nose still deeper in the cat’s warm fur, to receive a 
slight scratch by way of a token, “ you know what 
I confided to you once before. Maybe, when our 
five years are over — we may. That” (mischiev- 
iously) “ will give Mr. Lovel, plenty of time in 
which to earn the roast beef and gravy, Pussie.” 

“ Meow !” responded the cat impatiently. 

“You are sensibly disappointed. Puss,” returned 
Mr. Lovel. “ I hear it in your voice. As for myself, 
I am thoroughly disheartened. Think of it. Puss, 
poor forlorn fellow that I am. IS'o home, no friends; 
no one to care for me when I am sick ; no one to en- 
joy life with when I am well ; no one to give me 
courage, or heart to work. None ! None ! I tell 
you. Puss,” with a heart-breaking sigh, “ if this 
too wretched existence of mine does not brighten I 
will — I will — shuffle off this mortal coil, I will, 
indeed. And, after all,” this with despondent 
dreadfulness, “ what is the use of wrestling vainly 
with uncongenial conditions when an infinitesimal 
dose will bring a man eternal peace ?” 

“Tell him to for — forgive me, — this instant — 


208 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


Puss!” cried Follet, great tears coursing down her 
cheeks. ‘ ‘ Tell him I do — do — do love him 1 And 
oh, Pussie,”— very much muffled in the cat’s back, 
‘Hell him I will — will marry him if — if Fly will 
only let me.” 

No need for the cat any longer. Follet had con- 
fessed. There was a spring, — wonderfully agile, con- 
sidering the lame ankle — and she was clasped in a 
pair of masculine arms that would not let her go. 

“My own at last ! My precious Follet ! My lit- 
tle wife to be I” 

Squeeze ! Squeeze 1 Meow 1 Scratch ! 

“You horrid puss 1 She scratched me, Mr. Lov — 
Oh, dear!” 

“We will not punish her too severely, sweet one, 
will we? Poor darling little hand!” — rapturous 
kisses on the wounded finger. “She has proven 
such a faithful go-between for so many happy days. 
Come here, Pussie. Attention ! Henceforth I am 
your master, and your mistress is mine. ‘ Whither 
she goeth I will go, and where she lodgeth I will 
lodge ; her people shall be my people, and her God 
my God.’ ” 

Purr-r-r-rr ! 

“Puss seems resigned,” said the happy Lovel 
after an hour of rapture, whispers of love, and in- 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


209 


terludes of beatitude on bis part, and silence and 
most affectionate gestures on tbe part of FoUet. 

‘‘Pussie, ask Mr. Lovel if I spoke— once ? I am 
afraid I did.” 

‘‘ I tbink you persistently addressed tbe cat, my 
conscientious sweetbeart. I am jealous of that 
animal bencefortb. Use all means to persuade Fly 
to remove tbe padlock of silence from your sweet 
lips, my darling.” 

‘‘Perhaps, Pussie, he will regret tbe padlock — 
after wedlock.” 

“Never! Never! Only let wedlock come as 
speedily as possible. I would like to marry you 
now, dearest, this very minute !” 

“What, Pussie! In this wrapper? Just like a 
man, isn’ t it ?’ ’ Follet looked sweetly and shyly into 
her lover’s eyes. “I will try to prevail upon Fly to 
release me from my vow. But, my own darling — 
Puss I mean, — never, never talk again about dying. 
It is cruel, and very wicked to indulge in such 
thoughts. To-morrow, — maybe. Puss, — I can ex- 
press with my lips what my heart dictates, and say: 
‘ yes, my own lover, poor I find you, friendless and 
homeless, but my choice to live with and love for- 
ever and aye !’ ” Then the cat was dropped sud- 
denly, and there was a rustling, and a clicking of 
U 


210 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA, 


departing little feet along the stained floor, and 
Laurence Lionel Level, finding his arms empty, 
caught up the innocent animal, and, looking into her 
curious, yellow eyes said, with a satisfied and happy 
smile : 

‘‘Follet flies I” 


/ 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

COOING CONFIDENCES. 

Who sings of life as a dreary thing, 

Created for sorrow and suffering? 

Away with this singer of men ! 

The sun shines down when the rain-clouds go, 
And the pulse of the rose is under the snow 
For the little Bohemienne. 

Madame hath jewels over the way. 

Small fragments of fires that burn all day ; 

Do they glitter for her alone? 

Their yellow flames have a power divine ^ 
To leap from her dainty hand to mine. 

And their light on the beggar hath shone. 

Madame hath music, and I have ears ; 

Madame is deaf to half she hears; 

Who, I pray, is the richer then? 

A million waves of the subtle sound 
She misses — ecstasy so profound — 

To the little Bohen^ienne, 

Madame hath roses ; over the wall 
The vagrant; winds the petals let fall. 

And a royal wreath I glean : 


212 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


Call them the crumbs from the rich man’s feast, 

Matchless in color and sweetness, at least, 

Who’d change for the crown of a queen? 

Madame hath beauty ; gold in her hair. 

And gold in her purse. I’ve naught to spare 
Of these favors all women love; 

But the sun on the grass is as bright as gold, 

And wealth and beauty are hard to hold— 

I’d fear with either to rove. 

Madame, farewell! I’ll none of your wealtli; 

Youth is mine, and freedom, and liealth ; 

I’ll wander o’er mountain and dale. 

Chirp in your cage with its gilded door; 

Maid once married comes forth never more — 

You are welcome to jailer and jail ! 

It strikes me,” said Fly, that Carol is unusu- 
ally high-spirited and disagreeably noisy, this morn- 
ing. And where, I should be pleased to know, 
did she learn that peculiar song ? It has nor time 
nor tune !” and the exasperated student closed the 
huge volume in her lap — a work on Chironomia — 
and bent one vexed ear to Carol’ s lay of the Little 
Bohemienne. 

/‘She composed it herself,” replied Follet, who 
was busy over a piece of embroidery she seemed 
suddenly insi3ired to finish. Carol is very clever, 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


213 


yc>^^ know; destined for a career, no doubt. 
You never, any one of you,”— this with renewed 
energy of voice — ‘‘thought I was fitted for a mis- 
sion in life ; not seeming to know any one thing in 
particular, and so very little in general.” 

“Nonsense, Follet!” was Miss Fly’s depressing 
rejoinder. “Every one has some quality of mind 
capable of development. I have thought seriously 
that you might make a very passable lecturer.” 

“ Me?” cried Follet with horror and incorrectness. 
“Oh, Fly, indeed, I could not ! And, really, I would 
rather not.” 

“X 

“Want of confidence in her own powers,” com- 
menced Fly, oracularly, laying down the “ Chirono- 
mia,” and preparing for what Carol informally 
termed a “chin,” “has been the bane of woman’s 
existence. From her cradle up she remains in one 
mt, afraid to come out ; consequently is narrow in 
mind, rigid in opinion, small in practice. I’d like 
to yank her out of it !” 

“Yink, yank, yunk ! Never heard the term 
properly defined.” It was Carol, ink-bespattered 
and radiant with good humor. 

As a rule she was cross after an inspiration. The 
day she conceived her “Ode to Peace,” she nearly 
raised the roof of the villa in a fit of untimely rage 


214 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


over some trifle. But this time she appeared but 
pleasantly elated by her literary labors. 

‘‘Fly, ma helle^ inelegant expressions come 
with a bad grace from your beauteous lips. Do 
Juliet and the like ; they suit your style. Leave 
me the supple slang. Mercy me ! What has hap- 
pened to the needle-hating Follet \ Taken to that 
fragment of needle- work begun last Easter ! Your 
intellect is expanding in this villa-nous air.” 

“I was just saying to her, when you banged in, 
Carol, that she ought to decide without further de- 
lay, upon some one purpose to live and work 
for.” 

Carol laughed wickedly. 

“I tell her,” continued the earnest Fly, “that, 
with proper study, and some elocutionary training, 
she will do as well, at least, on the lecture platform 
as the average man.” 

“Ha, ha, ha! Te, hee-hee!” 

“Polite as usual, Carol. I can only think of 
you as a successful rival to an accomplished boot- 
black!” Fly was thoroughly exasperated, for 
Carol had set Follet ofl into one of her hysterical 
attacks of laughter. 

“ I beg your pardon. Fly,” gasped Carol, con- 
tritely. “ I do, indeed. But the idea of Follet lec- 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


215 


taring ! Oh ! Oh ! I shall die !” and further cachin- 
ations encouraged the struggling Follet, and the 
two girls went down helplessly on the floor, Carol 
rolling over Follet, and the latter tripping up the 
indignant Fly who was dignifiedly making her 
exit. 

“Now see — see — what you have done,” moaned 
Follet, sitting up, very much mottled and streaked 
about her fair face. “You have made Fly angry, 
and I have been trying the whole morning to bring 
her ’round. You are a mean, malicious girl, and I 
believe you did it on purpose. There !” and Follet 
arose, twisted up her hair and ran after the retreat- 
ing Fly. 

“My senses! I believe Follet is stark, staring 
mad! Bring Fly around? I did it on purpose!” 
and the mystified Carol sat up and ruminated, look- 
ing like a small rumpled hen after a fight. By and 
by she nodded her head wisely : 

“ I declare if I do not begin to be afraid of myself. 
Something is wrong in the atmosphere. There is 
Dimple married, Follet taken to embroidery. Fly 
discovered reading a masculine looking letter, and I 
promised to meet the Professor and go on with the 
alphabet down behind the chicken-coop. Well, if 
this is treason,” shaking a little rebellious fist at 


216 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


Susan Anthony’s photograph over the mantel, 
“make the most of it !” 

* * ^ * * 

“ Carol,” said Follet after a peace had been duly 
declared, upstairs, between the combatants, “did 
you know I had a controversy with Fly to day V ’ 

“ ISlo ! What about V ’ 

“Marriage.” 

“You don’t mean it !” 

“Yes, I do. I may as well tell you all about it, 
now. It has to be known. You never heard of 
girls keeping a secret from each other in the same 
house, did you ?” 

“ Of course not, you goosie. Go on.” 

“Carol, Mr. Lovel has asked me to be his wife. 
How did I answer? I didn’t; Pussie did it. Oh, 
Carol, he adores me ! He cannot live without me ! 
Indeed, he threatened to commit suicide if I refused 
him. I know he is poor, but he is so tall, and 
so — ’ ’ 

“What on earth did Fly say ?” inquired Carol, 
heedless of Follet’ s increasing rhapsody; “what 
did she say ?” 

“ I told her I did wish she would release me from 
my vow. Dimple is gone. Aunt Daffy is homesick, 


THE VII.LA BOHEMIA. 


217 


and yon dear, dear Carol, would never stand in the 
way of my happiness, I know.” 

‘‘Wouldn’t I?” replied Carol, somewhat spite- 
fully. “I’ve some little consideration for your 
daily welfare. He is as poor as Jo'b’s off ox. You 
can’t live on sweet speeches, and they say they don’t 
last anyway.” 

“Carol,” Follet was sobbing grievously, “you 
have no more heart than a— a chicken. I only hope 
some day you may fall head and heels in love your- 
self !” 

“ Follet, dear old Follet, listen,” and Carol snug- 
gled up closer to her friend, “I am.” 

“Mercy me ! Carol ! It is the Professor ! What 
will Fly say now?” 

“ That, she is in a like condition, you innocent, un- 
suspecting Follet, as I will prove to the flinty- 
hearted young woman herself before I am through 
with my investigations.” A protracted whispering 
here ensued between the two girls. 

“lam glad, for one, Carol.” 

“ So am I.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


fly’s fault. 

‘‘Aunt Poke,” asked Fly, leaning on her slen- 
der arms and gazing from the kitchen window, 
“Annt Poke, what is good for — chilblains?” 

Xow, it is a peculiar fact that when a young 
woman’ s mind is in a ferment over some important 
matter she is sure to be, apparently, interested only 
in the veriest trifles of life ; hence the chilblains. 

“ Chilbanes, chile ? Cole po’k is mighty healin’. 
Fo’ de Lo’d, I nevah see it do no pow’ful ’mount of 
good though, honey ! Seems to me some pussons — 
onery sort of -pussons — claps salt po’k onto every- 
ting. Xow, when my young missy, down ole Ya’- 
ginny— ” 

“Run after the chickens. Aunt Poke! Run 
quickly 1 They’ll drown in that puddle.” 

Aunt Poke waddled off, with the gravy spoon 
held high, at the pace of a discontented turtle. 

“If Aunt Poke once begins those everlasting 
reminiscences of hers she will drive me mad, with 
all the rest I have to bear,” sighed Fly, as she 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


219 


clasped hard her throbbing head, and gazed out, 
sad and weary, at the gray sky and dripping lilac 
bushes. “Oh, dear! my poor heart is a lump of 
lead I All my castles have, indeed, vanished into 
‘thin air.’ Ambitions, independence, friendships, 
I seem to see them, like mocking phantoms, fad- 
ing, fading into nothingness. Friendships ! just to 
think of Follet 1 So soon after Dimple’ s treachery, 
too. Wishing to leave me for a — man ! Dear knows 
it is true, that when a woman acknowledges a lover 
a friend is of no account ; he is first, last, forever. 
What a sense of desolation comes over me when I 
realize it all ! Nobody loves me — ” here a profound 
sigh; “ that is, nobody who has a right to, and who 
can come near enough to be of any comfort. And 
I snubbed poor Follet so, dear child 1 Can she help 
her loving, leaning nature 1 Reason tells me that 
she is not fit to cope with the world. Even the 
strongest of us have hours of yearning for a stronger 
heart and brain to rest upon ; and then, it seems a 
woman is not sufficient unto another woman. So it 
goes. But I must cease complaining, since my way 
is so plainly marked out for me. I, at least, must 
prove that my sex is equal to a life of independence. 
And I have dear Carol left. She has more char- 
acter than the other girls ; that’s a comfort. Fol- 


220 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


let will go off with that poverty-stricken student ; 
Aunt Daffodil will be sure to follow her, and 
Carol and I will settle down in the villa in 
genuine old-maid, tea-kettle, tabby-cat fashion.” 
Here, the philosophic young person rapped slowly 
and sadly, in unison with the rain, on the window 
pane. ‘‘Then, there is Pussie and Pomp, and we 
have Sylph and Aunt Poke, Mickey and Zed. I am 
sure it is quite a happy family ; equal to P. T. Bar- 
num’ s. ” Fly indulged in a grieved little laugh, and 
then sighed more deeply than before. “ Poor Will 
Fowler ! How tender, true and patient the dear boy 
has been ! I wonder if he took my ‘ farewell ’ very 
hard Deeper sighs. “ I had to do it. I cannot 
violate my solemn vow. For the . sake of woman I 
must live up to my highest aspirations, and then the 
girls — that is, Carol depends upon me. But it was 
hard, hard, hard. Let me think. Will must have 
received my letter about Saturday noon. If he re- 
plied, to-day should bring his letter. But— Oh, I 
forget — I requested a-a si-si-silence to-to last for- 
ever.” Gfreat tears, rivaling the rain drops, were 
by this time chasing each other down Fly's peachy 
cheeks, and little volcanic convulsions trembled 
the scarlet ribbon knots on her aching breast. 

“Does de chilbanes hu’t ye, honey? Dey is 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


221 


awful; I knows dey is, ’cause when my young 
missy way down ole Ya’ginny” — 

Fly had fled. 

****** 

Murther ! Murther ! Will yez come ? I belave 
Miss Fly is kilt in tire! y !” 

Carol, her ruffled head on her little inky hand, 
was buried half a ream deep in literary reflection, 
when, at length, Mickey’s ominous summons pene- 
trated her abstracted brain. In an instant she was 
out of her attic den, and, with heart paralyzed with 
terror, knelt beside Fly, who lay where she had 
fallen, face downward, a letter crushed in one 
slender hand. 

‘‘Run for the Professor ! Run, Mickey !” gasped 
the frightened girl, lifting into her lap Fly’ s pros- 
trate head with its rich coils of purple hair. “ Fol- 
let ! Follet !” 

That young maiden, rosy and sweet out of a day- 
dream before the parlor fire, appeared in a trice to 
throw herself in still more terrified amazement be- 
side the unconscious one. “It is I! It is I who 
have killed her! Her heart is broken. Speak to 
me ! Only speak. Fly, and I will never, never leave 
you ! I will never marry — ” 

As if Follet’ s frenzied cries had summoned the 


222 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


object of her disloyal thoughts, Mr. Lovel suddenly 
stood before her in the doorway. 

“She has only fainted,” said he, gravely, as he 
lifted the slender Fly and bore her to the parlor 
lounge. “Follet, bring a little wine if you have 
it.” 

But Carol had already gone, and Follet contin- 
ued to weep, wring her white hands, and cry : 

“Yes, it is all my fault ! Dear, dear Fly, I shall 
never forgive myself.’ ’ 

“IS’o, darling,” said Mr. Lovel, taking the crum- 
pled letter from the now relaxed fingers ; “ there 
is something wrong here.” And he put the 
missive carefully out of sight under the sofa cush- 
ions. ‘ ‘ If Fly sees fit she will explain it in good 
time.” 

***** * 

“ If it had been my fault I certainly should have 
given him up,” declared Follet, as she hung caress- 
ingly over the revived Fly. “A man has so much 
in life to live for, and we have so little. If you had 
died for me. Fly, I never, never would have left you 
for any husband !” 

Carol laughed between her sobs : 

“I am glad that Follet is going to marry an Irish- 
man— though how a person named Laurence Lionel 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


223 


Lovel can be of Irish descent, as he says he is, is 
more than I can comprehend — for she manages to 
make as many neat ‘buUs’ as the best of them. 
But, dear Fly, I don’t wonder that Follet was nearly 
crazed ; yon looked jnst like death, with your long 
black lashes on your white cheeks, and not a breath 
to be discovered. There! there, don’t cry again, 
dearie ; try to sleep. I know the night seems end- 
less when one is in suspense, but morning must 
come, and you can be at home in less than five 
hours if you will keep calm and get strong enough 
to start. We have already telegraphed to Miss 
Fowler to meet you.” 

Girls,” whispered poor Fly, ‘‘maybe — maybe — 
he will be — will be — dead.” 

The Bohemiennes folded their suffering comrade 
in their soft arms, and wept in helpless unison. 
After a moment Follet kissed her and said, bright- 
ening up with an effort to be hopeful : 

“I would not think of such a thing ! Do you 
know I have a premonition of good, not ill ? There 
is every reason to hope, and I believe he will soon 
be well.” 

“Oh, girls, if only I had not written that last 
letter, that cold, cruel letter 1” exclaimed Fly, turn- 
ing anew upon her distracted self. “His sister 


224 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


wrote me that it reached there Just — ^just at the 
worst, and he would have it read to him, and he 
became delirious, and now^ — Oh ! maybe, he has no 
life ! I am a murderess ! A cruel, cruel murder- 
ess !■’ cried the poor girl, relapsing into violent 
hysterics. ‘‘ I love him ! I love him !” 

“ She loves him !” Follet and Carol looked pite- 
ously and helplessly at each other, great tears roll- 
ing down their faces. “She loves him ! And we 
never knew it !” 

Rap, rap, rap ! 

“I am so glad you have come,” gesticulated 
Carol, reminded of her own speechlessness in the 
face of the masculine mute. 

“She is out of her head again,” sobbed Follet, 
forgetting all vows as Fly pulled at the bedclothes, 
and whispered hoarsely : 

“Willie! Willie! Take me !” 

“ I will give her an opiate,” said the Professor. 

And in half an hour, between sobs and sudden 
convulsions that shook her slender form like an as- 
pen leaf. Fly fell asleep. 


CHAPTEE XXY. 


THE WOOING o’t. 

A GEEAT fire burned in the kitchen stove that 
was positively luminous with heat, and close to it, 
basking in its radiating comfort, sat old Aunt Poke. 
Sleep stole over her. One hand hung down, a short 
black pipe between its fingers ; her head, surmount- 
ed by its gay turban, nodded to and fro, like a vari- 
egated poppy on a wilted stem, and every now and 
then her wide-open mouth gave vent to a snore like 
anything between the fitful snort of a steam engine 
and a groan of perfect somnolent beatitude. At 
Aunt Poke’s generous feet pussie lay, coiled snugly 
in her accommodating tail ; and in front of the fire 
sat Carol in a highbacked rocker, her little slippered 
feet resting on the edge of the stove hearth, her 
elbows on the padded arms of the chair, and her 
head, with its boyish waves of brown hair, inclining 
gently as she rocked. On the low wall of the 
kitchen hung rows of tins, glittering like silver ; the 
kettle, on the back of the great stove, bubbled and 
hissed jubilantly, and there was a sense of satisfac- 

15 


226 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


tion and shelter about the odors, the sounds, and 
the humble seclusion to be found nowhere else in 
the Yilla Bohemia. 

Carol knew it. All her life she had been possessed 
of an extraordinary faculty that served her in the 
increase of her creature comforts. What she most 
did affect, be sure, was filled to overflowing with 
discovered causes for pleasurable emotion. 

‘‘Carol hath dominion over the birds of the air 
and the beasts of the field — after they are dead,” 
Fly was wont to say in her tragic manner. “Out 
of the skins doth she fashion a gorgeous mantle ; 
and the turkey-gobbler doth render up his fairest 
tail-feather that she may be plumed in splendor 
meaning thereby that Carol was born with a gift 
for discerning many benefits to be gathered from 
Nature undisco verablo by her commoner sisters. 
Therefore, the kitchen fire. Aunt Poke, the pussie, 
and the teakettle. 

• ‘ ‘ All inspire, ’ ’ she mused, ‘ ‘ and each may expand 
into a universe of delight — if the rest of the girls 
will only let me alone.” 

This particular evening Carol apostrophized a 
shoe where it lay. Just under the edge of the glow- 
ing stove ; a dilapidated little shoe, burst out at the 
toe, brown, and run down at the heel— a boy’s shoe. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


227 


‘‘Dear Zeddie, the saucy little chap ! You look 
just like him, you cunning shoe, you ! Been in 
more mischief than anything that ever was made ! 
Look as if you had hopped yourself to pieces ; look 
as if you’ d been drowned over and over ; look as 
if you’d kicked against something, or somebody, 
since ever you began your travels. Yes, you look 
exactly as if you had run away and never rested a 
second in all your funny little life. Poor dar- 
ling, petted, spoiled, mischievous Zeddie ! What 
a hold a child gets on one ! I do wish Frances 
had not insisted on taking him home ; it leaves 
the house so still and lonesome. With Dimple 
gone, too. Ah, me I Pussie, whose dear, precious 
old shoesie is that ?” 

Meow ! 

“Of course you recognize it. Well you know 
the shoestrings. You have pulled them out dozens 
of times — for me to put in. Dear little shoe ! 
Shabby, run-down little shoe ! God guide the 
foot that shaped it, and keep it as pure from all 
evil ways forever! Pll x^reserve that shoe,” ad- 
ded the young girl, tenderly lifting up the ragged 
bit of leather. “Pll never part with it!” 

Kiss~ss— ss ! as softly and certainly on Carol’s 
cheek as a snowflake melting into the heart of a 


228 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


warm flower. The moustache was a trifle wet and 
frosty. Over backward went the rocker, the small 
occupant only saved from an ignominious fall by 
a pair of strong hands. She was not half so aston- 
ished nor indignant as she should have been. In 
a moment, however, she was on her feet, frown- 
ing bewitchingly and making threatening signs 
rapidly upon her slim Angers. 

‘‘You hypocritical man ! How dare you, sir?” 

Up hunched pussie’ s back at the interruption of 
her cat-nap, and over went Aunt Poke’s head, 
while a spasmodic snore reverberated on the kitchen 
air. 

“She’s off,” pantomimed the satisfled intruder, 
cautiously divesting himself of his damp cloak, 
and drawing a chair up beside Carol, who had 
snuggled down again. “Now, Carol, my love, 
time is precious. It is fast running away with me ; 
I cannot afford to waste another moment. You 
know what I have come for. Is it, darling, ‘ yes,’ 
or ‘ no ?’ I will give you flf teen minutes — an eter- 
nity to me — in which to consider the matter. If, 
at the expiration of that time, you say ‘No,’ I 
shall take the midnight train for other scenes. If, 
Oh! my precious one! it is ‘Yes,’ never, never, 
shall fate or fortune part us more ! I have brought 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


229 


my portmanteau packed for traveling ; it is out 
on the porch, and all my arrangements are made 
for an immediate leave taking. Your decision to- 
night, Carol, seals my destiny for ‘ weal or woe.’ 
There, do not cry, do not say one word, my love, 
until you are prepared for the eventful one. Let 
me leave you now and smoke my cigar outside ; 
and, Oh ! Carol, remember that I am a blessed or 
accursed man by your simple word ! Still, I would 
not bias your determination. And whatever your 
conclusion, I will abide by it from this hour hence- 
forth.” All this in the alphabetical lightning of 
the mute speaker. 

‘‘He is the most awful man to deal with!” 
moaned the tearful Carol, after the door had closed 
on her wooer. “ I am sure he means every identi- 
cal word he says, and there is no doubt but that I 
encouraged him. Oh 1 yes, I certainly did 1 He 
hasn’t allowed me a moment’s peace since I 
learned that alphabet ; and it did seem so 
safe when one only made signs. What shall 
I do? Five minutes must be up.” The little 
Bohemienne reflected nervously. “ Suppose I 
say ‘No’? Here I am, and he gone, dear knows 
how far away. No one to love or live for me in the 
wide, wide world. Dimple married, Follet going to 


230 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


be. Fly, of course, will accept her old lover. Will 
Fowler ; and then all the Bohemiennes will be ex- 
tinguished except poor me. Sylph is nearly dead ; 
Aunt Poke will soon poke off to her old Missy in 
heaven ; Pussie is liable, and Pomp is forever get- 
ting worsted, and the villa threatening to tumble 
down. I declare another five minutes must be gone ! 
If I say ‘Yes’ — there it is. My own mistress no 
longer, a man about the house, and no liberty 
to mention. Horrible ! If I indite a love poem, he 
will declare it is to some one else. If I sit up late 
o’> nights, — perhaps inspired, — he will remind me 
that lights are expensive, or warn me about my 
health. If I am gay, I am frivolous ; if reflective, 
out of temper. Oh, no ! I never could endure it 1 
Then, there would be housekeeping to attend to, 
shirt buttons to sew on, and socks to darn. Worse 
and worse ! Boots on your toilet table, tobacco 
in your hairbrush, hats on the mantel, doors slam- 
ming, and general disorder. Oh, no ! Decidedly 
no ! I wonder what time it is now ? He must have 
been out there over ten minutes. No, I have fully 
made up my mind. I shall never, never mar — ” 

“ Time is up, my darling. Is it my darling and 
the lover stood again in the firelight facing the for- 
midable young woman manfully, and signing to her 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


231 


to quickly sign back to him his death warrant or 
summons to life and love. ‘‘Quick!” he gesticu- 
lated nervously. “ For Heaven’s sake, do not keep 
me in suspense. Is it ‘ yes,’ or ‘ no ’ 

Carol’s hair rose suddenly on end. Was ever a 
woman so tyrannized over ? But there was no time 
in which to rally her forces. At his peremptory 
bidding her little fingers stood up in the air, her 
little mouth drew woefully down at the mutinous 
corners, her defiant gray eyes lowered their white 
flags of truce. 

“ Y-e-s 1” and Carol had surrendered to the trium- 
phant silence of the besieging enemy. 

“ My little rebel of a sweetheart !” cried the vic- 
torious wooer, holding hard to his breast his con- 
quered property. “ Thou art, indeed, the last of 
the Bohemiennes 1” 

“ Base man 1” gesticulated the astonished Carol, 
surveying the happy Professor with wide-open 
eyes, “not dumb 

“ I failed utterly with speech, Mrs. Professor, but, 
discovering a ‘ game that two can play at,’ I have 
won the sweetest of all, the brightest and best. Do 
not say, my own, that I have not succeeded fairly 
and entirely.” 

Carol’s wavy, brown head drooped, but her eyes. 


232 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


filled with love’s tenderest liglit, looked up into 
her lover’s, and her sweet red lips answered 
mutely. 

* * * ^ 

Aunt Poke was sitting bolt upright. The kitchen 
was growing cold. Pussie had crept into the warm 
ashes, and the rocker was deserted. 

•‘Ise been to Heben, I has,” muttered the old 
woman, getting stiffly on her feet. “Dey was a- 
holdin’ a lubly potracted meetin’, an’ a lub-feast ; 
an’ a-shakin’ han’s, an’ a-kissin’, an’ havin’ a bres- 
sed, bressed time. Hi! fo’ de Lo’d, dis ole nig 
didn’t want to come back no-mo’, no-how !” 


CHAPTER XXYL 


THE MAHONEY MARRIES. 

“PwHAT betwixt tbe big house an’ the ould wan, 
me poor, rheumatic legs is off me intirely,” com- 
plained Mickey to himself, as he sat down on the 
roadside half-way between the two houses. “An’ 
it’s the money is runnin’ loike wather down hill — 
wid slathers of foine whisky into it ! It’s not a 
mane hair was in the ould Mahoney’s bald head, 
nor one in the young wan’s nather. Begorra ! The 
weddin’ they’ll have ! Thim thradesmen, from 
town, wid satins an’ silks an’ the loike ; an’ sich a 
turnin’ up ov matthers as the Big Farm niver seed 
afore nor afther. An’ thim white-capped rascals,” 
Mickey smacked his lips in appreciative anticipa- 
tion — “wid their hands knee- deep in bakin’, a- tas- 
tin’ an’ givin’ ordthers to their betthers ! Shure, 
Miss Follet was afther makin’ her bed comfortable 
this time. An’ niver a oncet does she know how 
soft a wan it is. But he’s the sly bh’y ! Sparkin’ 
fur a beggarly spalpeen, an’ he a-rollin’ in his 
wealth. YYell ! it’s a quare world. Mickey, mon. 


234 THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 

y 

ye’ d betther be movin’ . It’ s a baste ov burden ye' re 
gettin’ to be in yer ould age. Ocli, murther ! If 
Mistber Edward’s posies is smashed, there’ll be the 
divil to pay at the villa! An’ they’re as swate as 
thim gurrels thimsilves,” and Mickey, as he slowly 
trudged along, sniffed at the huge basket of rare 
exotics he was bearing to the Bohemiennes. 

Of course, Follet was to be married at the dear 
old house. The girls would have it so, although, 
to be sure, it reflected somewhat on the purpose and 
principle that brought them together there. 

“It is so lucky that we did lease it,” said Carol, 
“for, otherwise, Follet would be utterly homeless. 
'Now, you. Fly, — don’t blush, darling, we are all in 
the same boat, — will, very naturally, wish to be mar- 
ried at your sister’ s, and, as I feel more at home 
there than at my precious stepmother’s, I do not 
see why we should not indulge in a double wedding. 
But you, you fortunate Follet, — always getting the 
nicest things in life without trying, — you are to 
march in matrimonial chains,” this with a little 
rueful grimace, “out of the dear old Yilla Bohemia. 
Oh, girls, what larks we have had here 1” 

“More larks than lamin’,” sighed Fly. 

“No sighs to day !” cried Carol. “ No sighs on 
Follet’ s wedding day ! It is bad luck. I am sure 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


235 


we fought it out on our line all summer. If we 
were defeated, after valiant resistance, why we 
must retrieve our fallen fortunes after the enemy is 
ours.” 

A sound of carriage wheels was heard. 

‘‘Who has come? Girls, it is — it is our darling 
little Dimple ! Blessings on the child. Just look 
at her matrimonial magnificence ! Isn’t it too, too 
sweet for anything ?” 

The “too-too ” was a phaeton drawn by a pair of 
exquisitely caparisoned, snow-white ponies ; the 
dignity of the establishment. With its baby mistress, 
sustained by a small, stately footman all clad in 
gray and gold. There was a simultaneous rush of 
the three Bohemiennes after the fourth. 

“Artie thed thertainly I wath to come,” lisped 
Dimple, as soon as she could recover her squeezed- 
out breath. “ He will be over very early with, oh, 
girlth— my mother-in-law. I thood have been here 
thooner, but we’ve had the motht dreadful occurren- 
theth all around. Mithith Moore would not forgive 
uth for tho long, although we wrote Jutht how it all 
wath, and then Artie took it to heart and wath tho 
very mitherable and got thick in that horrible old 
tavern all full of bugth and dirt. Then I went, 
without telling him, and thaw her and plead with 


236 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


her. The ith very thtuck-np, girlth, — and the cried, 
and I cried, and we went back together to poor 
Artie, and he cried, and we all cried, and then we 
kithed and made np. And now I am at home on 
the Heighth. It ith very thplendid, girlth, and my 
Artie ith tho good and^ — ” 

“Oh, of course, young innocent!” cried Carol, 
with an assumption of the olden time. ‘ ‘ Every- 
thing is always lovely during the honeymoon. 
Even mothers-in-law are endurable. But, for good- 
ness sake, don’t all look so solemn over Dimple’s 
past woes. We are to have nothing to-day but 
laughter and love, laces and roses — and here they 
come!” Mickey approached and deposited his 
burden. 

“Divine! Perfectly divine!” the Bohemiennes 
cried in a breath, as the small mountain of rare 
blossoms was poured out on the carpet at their little 
feet. 

“You see. Dimple,” explained Follet, “Lionel’s 
friend and patron, Mr. Edward Mahoney, is not at 
all sure that he will be able to get here until late in 
the evening, so he very, very kindly wrote to Lionel 
to help himself to all the flowers he desired for the 
wedding, out of the great conservatory of the man- 
sion. And you must know also that, at Mr. Ma- 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


237 


honey’s especial request, the reception, after the 
ceremony, is to be held in the grand drawing room 
there. Isn’t that rather fine for poor little me? I 
am only afraid our modest party will look lost in 
its stretch of magnificence. Frances, and a few 
friends of hers and Aunt Daffy’s only will be here. 
I am not to see any of the preparations until we go 
over ; but I am sure all will be perfect, my Lionel 
has such good taste. Was it not generous and 
thoughtful in Mr. Mahoney ? And, do you know, 
girls,” continued the unsuspecting Follet, her eyes 
bent on her work of making garlands, “ that I more 
than half believe he had a hand in giving me that 
superb white silk-wedding dress ? Although Lionel 
says he bought it out of his owney, owney sum- 
mer’s savings.” 

Fly stooped lower over her bouquet of blossoms; 
Carol flew abruptly to look from the window, and 
Dimple dimpled all over her face and showed her 
little white teeth. 

‘‘You happy, happy Follet!” cried Fly, look- 
ing over tenderly at that confiding young person. 
“I am sure you deserve everything of the best; 
such a dear, unselfish girl as you are I” 

“Indeed,” mused Carol aloud, “it isn’t every 
girl, nowadays, who marries for nothing.” 


238 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


“Dimple, as you have condescended to return to 
a community of useful people, suppose you do 
something to help. By the way, what a perfectly 
lovely bonnet that is you had on!” 

“ Ithn’t it ! My Artie bought it ; he wanth to 
do everything for me himthelfth.” 

“Most women subside into helpless rag-dolls after 
marriage,” remarked Fly sharply. 

“’Sh!” commanded Carol, “no Bohemianisms to- 
day. It is to be purely love’s labor here. Dimp, 
what are you going to wear to-night ?” 

“A pale rothe-colored thilk en traine^ puffed 
all over with illuthion ; wild rotheth, and my 
mother-in-law’ th diamondth.” 

“You delicious doll!” cried Carol, in ecstasy. 
“You will look like a newly -hatched cherub! I 
am to appear celestial — it’ s a trifle narrow for me — 
in a dress that Frances sent down ; a blue brocade, 
with morning-glory vines trailing over it. Frances 
made the flowers of wax. I trust the rooms will be 
kept at a proper temperature or I shall — melt in the 
eyes of strangers ; and I do fervently wish my arms 
were not so skinny, for the garment has no sleeves 
to speak of.” 

“You are so little, nobody minds the want of a 
pound or so,” returned Fly, consolingly. “I shall 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


239 


be as gorgeous as a poppy, in crimson, with half- 
blown tea roses ; hair au naturel^ and no orna- 
ments.” 

‘‘To mention,” amended Follet, holding up to 
Dimple’ s gaze Fly’ s significant third finger ablaze 
with a magnificent solitaire. 

“ Oh ! I thaw that thome time ago,” lisped Dim- 
ple. “Artie knowth Mr. Fowler well. He ith to 
be Mithith Moore’ th guetht until after the wedding. 
Let me thee your dreth, Follet.” 

The Bohemians adjourned to the spare bedcham- 
ber, where was outspread, for ecstatic inspection, 
the pure, foam-like bridal garment. 

“ And the dear old villa. Dimple, doesn’t it look 
lovely ? Did you observe the garlands of green in 
the front hall, and the illumination over the door ? 
I painted that myself,” said Fly enthusiastically : 
“ Love rules !” 

“ For this night only,” giggled the irresponsible 
Carol. 

“And the parlor. Dimple, is a perfect Eden’s 
bower, is it not ? The ceremony will be performed 
under a great bell of white and pink roses,” con- 
tinued Fly. “We shall have trouble to keep it up. ’ ’ 

“A dumb-bell,” suggested Follet, looking wick- 
edly at Carol. 


240 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


“And all are invited connected with the villa,” 
went on Fly. “Aunt Poke in a new red, white and 
blue turban ; Zed in a pair of wings, typical of his 
cherubic state on earth ; Pussie in a wreath of 
immortelles, m memoriam of her departed eight lives, 

• and Mickey, Pomp and Sylph, if the latter t;an 
stand through the ceremony.” 

“All to be in at the death of the Bohemiennes,” 
sighed Follet, dropping a bunch of orange buds out 
of her listless fingers. 

“A sigh from the bride ! Treason to man ! Keep 
them, young woman, keep them until after the 
honeymoon,” advised Carol, leading the way to 
Aunt Poke’s very “ jjarticelah ” lunch, for which 
delicious repast not one of the girls could evoke the 
least particle of appetite. 

When the wedding hour arrived, the villa was, 
indeed, at its best. Illuminated until its irregular 
old eaves were picturesquely outlined against the 
evening sky ; fragrant with flowers ; warm with 
sparkling wood fires, and bubbling over with laugh- 
ter and animated youth. And yet, through all the 
joy and brightness, ran a subtle thread of regret. 

“It is really a ‘farewell’ to the dear, dear old 
villa,” said Fly, a cloud over her black eyes’ 
splendor. 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


241 


Nonsense !” returned the irreverent Carol, 
don’ t feel in the least sad about the tumble-down 
rookery. Besides, Fly, it is all in the family.” 

“’Sh ! Carol. Here is Follet.” 

^ ^ * 

“My beautiful one! My precious love!” ex- 
claimed Laurence Lionel Lovel, as Follet descended 
from her chamber, clad in her shining wedding gar- 
ment. “I am the proudest, and happiest, and 
luckiest bridegroom in America !” 

Exquisitely lovely the bride appeared in her 
shimmering robes under a cloud of lace, wrought 
over with orange blossoms. The dress was a fitting 
vesture for her fair face, cerulean eyes, her golden 
hair and perfect form. 

“My lily !” continued the lover, in adoring apos- 
trophe, ‘ ‘ Bloom ever for me sweet and pure ; and 
Heaven grant I may prove worthy so much — ” 

“Not another minute for ‘spoons!’ ” broke in the 
unsentimental Carol, from where she stood teetering 
impatiently on the edge of the stairway, like a little 
blue and white wood nymph. ‘ ‘ That awfully solemn 
minister is waiting under the rose-bell. I am 
afraid it will come down on him if we don’t hurry,” 
and she descended to take the arm of the Professor, 
immaculate and dignified in his evening dress, and 
16 - — 


242 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


the cortege moved into the parlor where a few guests 
from town were already assembled. 

After the bridal pair, Fly and Mr. Fowler, her 
handsome and pale convalescent j'ZaTice/ the Profes- 
sor and Carol ; Dimple and Mr. Moore, and lastly, 
the mother-in-law, gorgeous in velvet and jewels, 
and Aunt Daffodil, who smiled serenely upon the 
scene as if it were an expected denouement to her 
latest pet novel. 

‘‘And its foine mates they are, God kape ’em!” 
ejaulated Mickey, who was rather stiff in his new 
suit and wedding gloves, and he wiped a suspicious 
drop of moisture from his faithful Irish eyes. “It’s 

a love match ov the rale ould kind.” 

* * * ^ ^ ^ 

The Mahoney mansion was one broad blaze of light. 
All the county knew of the wedding, and came for 
miles around. Strains of enlivening music drifted 
out upon the clear, frosty air as the party from 
the villa swept up the long, white road. 

“ Everything is ready, sir,” said the tall, liveried 
attendant, swinging wide open the great hall doors, 
“ and the house is quite full.” 

“Come, my wife,” said the young bridegroom, 
tenderly lifting his bride over the threshold, 
“throw up your vail, and see your home; yours 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


243 


and mine while a Mahoney lives !” he cried, clasp- 
ing his arms passionately about the speechless Fol- 
let. Forgive the deception, my own. I know you 
will, since it has taught you to love for love alone. 
Welcome, welcome to Mrs. Mahoney ! And wel- 
come to one and all !” 

‘‘God bless you both!” rang upon the air from 
the assembled throng, and, in its echoing, Edward 
Mahoney led away his blushing, happy bride. 

* * * ^ 

“A wake ov sich doin’ s 1” reflected Mickey, at the 
termination of the wedding festivities. “ Whirra ! 
I’m used up intirely; an’ it’s a wondher ould 
Mahoney didn’t raise in his coffin to jine in it. 
Shure, didn’ 1 1 know Misther Edward wud niver be 
afther disgracin’ his aunt’s sisters 1 Mver a mane 
dhrop ov bind in his bones, nor wather in his 
whisky!” 


CHAPTER XXYIL 


mickey’s MEDITATIOl^S ON THE SAME. 

Mickey was slowly withdrawing the crookedly 
driven nails that fastened to the lane fence the 
board on which was inscribed in threatening 
capitals : 

“Xo man permitted on these premises, under 
penalty of the law.” 

At the giving way of each nail (there were eight), 
the little Irishman picked up liis pipe, indulged in 
a consolatory whilf or two, and philosophized : 

‘‘Lave hould, ye crooked claw ye ! ’Twas a fay- 
male driv yez in, or ye’ d niver have turned the two 
ways to oncet. Begorra! Weill moind the day 
ye was clinched. Four ov them gurrels, an’ as full 
ov the ould wan as an egg is ov mate ; an’ each give 
ye a whack, an’ sot down forninst ye an’ sez ; 
‘ Kape out mon an’ baste, an’ pace be wid us !”’ 

Out came Nail Number 2. 

“Me sowl on it, Miss Fly had the principal set- 
tling of yez ! An’ I niver confessed it, fur the sake 
ov mon; but, indade, indade, ipony’s the time her 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


245 


black eyes sint the cowld shivers up me back wid 
the look ov her. It’ s a bould chap, good luck till 
him ! has her fur betther — or wuss.” 

ISTail Number 3 succumbed. 

“Shure, ye’re the wee wan ! That’s Miss Dim- 
ple wid her bit hands. An’ she had an eye fur the 
pig an’ the creeturs in gineral ; an’ mony’ s the hour 
we spint on the fince, she wid her scrap ov a fut 
aggravatin’ the rail, an’ me relatin’ — wid extinsions 
—tales ov ould Ireland. I’ll kape the nail, I will ; 
an’ maybe I’ll be afther drivin’ the same in me 
Coffin to remimber inesilf by when I’m spacheless 
an’ cowld.” 

Nail Number 4 appeared. 

‘‘ That moight be Miss Carol.” (Silent cogitation 
and speculative examination of the piece of rusty 
iron.) Broke clane in two ! Shure, it’s the way 
ov her. She niver done bizness half way. Maybe 
it’s wrong I am, and maybe it’ s roight, — but God 
kape her ! fur there’s more angel nor divil in her, 
though thim eyes ov hers is awful desavin’. It’s 
glad I am she’s to be mistress ov the ould place. 
It’s a foine an’ a ginerous present to her from 
Misther Edward; an’ whin she’s married to the 
Profissor, shure she’ll spind all his salary onto it. 


246 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


But it’ s betther far than the bastes ov the air shud 
roost in it.” 

Nail Number 5 fell out. 

‘‘An’ I’ll call the same Miss Follet, Heaven 
bless her!” and Mickey bared his head; “an’ if 
Misther Edward’s the last of the Mahoneys I’m 
sorry fur it. She hit the roight nail on the head 
whin she druv this one.” 

Nail Number 6. 

“Ye niver kep’ wan ov thim out, ye black- 
headed desaver!” 

Nail Number 7. 

“If ye’d done yer juty, begorra ! poor ould 
Mickey wud have been in clover wid ’em for- 
ever.” 

Nail Number 8. 

“Four faymales driv ye in; one male aisy 
pulls yez out. May yez niver get in sich onprin- 
cipled bizness agin ! Ah ! Mickey, me bh’y, it’s a 
cowld pipe ye shmoke, an’ a miserable rascal ye 
are turnin’ out to be, an’ wuss since poor Mollie 
sint wurred ov her death in ould Ireland. Whirra ! 
Thim gurrels! It’s ruined intirely I am fur soli- 
tude, so I’ll be afther loightin’ me disconsolate 
pipe wid the lonesome widdy McGraw.” 


THE VILLA BOHEMIA. 


247 


And Mickey, witk the historic board (a revolu- 
tionary relic) under his arm, wended his way 
toward the small, snug cottage of the buxom Irish 
widow. 


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